Love, Angst, and Coffee Cups

some high-class shopping

2009-08-18T15:37:00.007-05:00

The other night, Husband and I went to a ritzy mall in Dallas called Northpark. I do not use the term 'ritzy' lightly here. This place is seriously high-end. They have stores that I am afraid to enter because the blonde, tanned, polished fembots who work there might remove me immediately for being too poor. Regardless, we walked around the mall several times so I could 'ooh' and 'ahh' at all the fancy stores and make fun of all the crazy Dallas women who shop in them. At one point, I almost went up to a women to chastise her for shopping WITH HER THIRTEEN YEAR OLD DAUGHTER in the Juicy Couture store. [Juicy Couture makes pants that have the word 'JUICY' written across the rear. 1. You should not have words on your rear. 2. You should NOT have the word 'JUICY' on your rear. 3. YOUR THIRTEEN YEAR OLD DAUGHTER SHOULD NOT HAVE 'JUICY ON HER REAR. Also, your thirteen year old daughter should be shopping at Old Navy or somewhere equally age-appropriate and reasonably priced.]

One nice thing about ritzy malls is that they have ritzy paper and stationary stores. Poor Husband in his long-suffering patience spent about twenty minutes letting me wander around one of these paper stores pointing out journals and notecards that I liked. He nearly choked over the crazy-expensive wedding invitations. Then, much to my delight, we happened upon the Baby Announcement section.

That's right. Baby Announcements. He he. Remember the last time Husband was confronted with baby paraphernalia?

"Babe! Look! Baby Announcements!"

[Grunt.]

"Awww! How cute! We are totally doing this when we have a baby!"

"Why?"

"Because we have to ANNOUNCE our baby's birth. Doesn't your baby deserve an announcement?"

"Sure. Its called Facebook."

adjusting to our new locale

2009-08-12T14:37:00.006-05:00

Please forgive the following, which will probably sound like an excerpt from a Texas travel guide.

OMG ya'll, Dallas RULZ!

Since we've been here, I've been indulging in all the things that Dallas has to offer that I couldn't find in my previous zip code. On Friday, Husband and I geared up for our weekly Date Night, and went to eat at Gloria's, a Mexican joint that Brother Robby introduced to us when he still lived here. After we ate, Husband started looking a little sneaky, which usually means he is going to try to talk me into going shopping. I know how much he loves this bike store in Dallas, how he would rave for tens of minutes about how awesome it was when he would visit Brother Robby, so I calmly suggested that perhaps he might be willing to take me to his bike store? So, off to Richardson Bike Mart we went. I think he started to regret bringing me along when I started asking stupid questions about the bikes, along the lines of "SIX THOUSAND DOLLARS?!?! FOR A BIKE?!?! My Nissan Sentra cost less than that!!".

I know, wild and crazy party people, right? Bike store on date night? Oh, just wait my friend. Wait for it.

On our way home, we were nearly in an accident when some crazy person in our car suddenly shrieked, "WHOLE FOODS!!!!!!!! WHOLE FOODS!!!!!!! PULL OVER NOOOOOOOOOOW!". Now, because Husband has saintly patience (and, let's face it, has put up with me for this long already), instead of killing me, he simply pulled into the parking lot and got out of the car while attempting to ignore the protruding vein pulsating in his forehead.

You know you are old when you actually enjoying walking through all the aisles at Whole Foods when you're on a date.

But, I have to say, we actually thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. I'm sure we must have been hilarious to watch, two grown people cooing and laughing at vegetables and fresh herbs and the fully-stocked fish case. I was nearly drunk with joy at the sheer variety of things available. I have always been irate at hosts on the Food Network who make snarky comments about how "you can find anything at your local grocery store these days." NO, INA GARTEN, NOT IF YOU LIVE IN THE MIDWEST, YOU CANNOT. However, now I know the secret! I'm in on it! You can literally find ANYTHING you would ever want at Whole Foods. I found fish there that I'd never seen except on tv.

This was particularly exciting because I have been in a major food rut lately. I have been making the same 5 to 8 things for probably 6 months. I can't remember the last Monday we didn't eat tacos. So, I am proud to announce to the Internet that my food rut officially ended as I was standing next to the fish case at Whole Foods. I saw some beautiful sole (one of those fish I'd never seen in real life) that I decided to make for dinner and POOF! So long, food rut!

Husband could hardly contain his rejoicing.

(Birthday) Weekend Update

2009-08-05T09:12:00.005-05:00

Friends, we made it.

We've finally landed in our first big city (a top-ten market!) where we will spend the next five years while I attempt to procure yet another tiny piece of paper. The move itself was insane, involving a 6:00 am departure, a nervous cat, and the worst customer service experience ever with a certain cable company that I shall not name on the internet because I don't want to be sued. However, you cannot truly appreciate the entire moving experience without an understanding of the Birthday Week and its role in these past few days.

Ok, in my family a considerable amount of hoopla goes into anyone's birthday. A few years ago, I described the NFL game road trip that we surprised The Boss with on his birthday. In the spirit of The Boss, who likes to assert that he has more of a Birthday Month or Birthday Quarter than merely one day, Husband has slowly broadened the scope of his birthday over the past few years. You may recall his Birthday Weekend a few years ago. Well, this year, he decided that he really was entitled to a Birthday Week. The catch, however, was that his Birthday Week happened to fall on the week in which we moved. Out of state. As in, from one state into another state.

As you can imagine, much ado was made about the injustice of this move and how it was ruining the Birthday Week. Poor Husband had to pack boxes DURING HIS BIRTHDAY WEEK and go through his clothes to set some aside for Goodwill ON HIS BIRTHDAY. In fact, Husband declined his traditional birthday breakfast in bed because he had to go to work early so he could come home early to pack the Uhaul.... DURING HIS BIRTHDAY WEEK.

Once we got here, to the state where they make you put tags on the back and front of your car (seriously?!), Husband decided he'd had enough: "I'm not going to unpack a single thing. Its my Birthday Week. I'm going to sit on the..... on the floor...... and eat cake." Because, you see, Husband decided he wanted to sell all of our furniture before we moved, and I had not yet procured a couch for him to sit upon DURING HIS BIRTHDAY WEEK.

We'd heard the lore about Ikea (and we now live in a city that has one), so off we trudged to find some furniture. We had previously visited about 7 furniture stores in the area and found them all to be way out of our price range, so you can imagine how excited I was about the prospect of more shopping. But Husband wanted a couch FOR HIS BIRTHDAY, so off we went.

People, Ikea is a land of unicorns and butterflies and I would live there if they would let me bring my books.

After much debate, which included Motha! and I dragging various pieces of furniture across the store to see things together (I thought Husband might go wait in the car at one point), we finally decided on a couch and coffee table, and I found a bookshelf, which The Boss and Motha! were buying for me as a congratulatory "you survived your MA!" present.

Et voila!

Husband was quite content to sit on his couch and eat the cookies that Cass, M.D. (Brother Robby's sweet wife) baked him for his birthday. Later that night when everyone was gone, we were sitting there together, and Husband turns to me and says, "welcome home."

birthday lunch

2009-07-31T18:01:00.003-05:00

"Babe, now that its your birthday, we've entered that part of the year when you are two years older than me. Now I get to brag about bagging an older man, and you can talk about your trophy wife."

"Babe, you are not a trophy! You are my equal."

[whines] "Baaaaaabe! I'm not your trophy wife?!?"

"You are seriously two different people. You are one person with me, and a completely different person with everyone else, especially in your profession."

"Well, of course I'm different with you. My relationship with you is totally different than my position in relation to all other men."

"Ha! See? I didn't want to spend 15 minutes of my 45-minute lunch listening to a barrage of feminism."

"Awwww! So you DO think I'm a trophy wife; you just didn't want to offend me?"

"Duh."

"HOORAY!"

he gets it!

2009-07-17T08:09:00.004-05:00

I am a big fan of a book called The Five Love Languages. The book argues that different people show love in different ways. For example, you might show love by spending quality time with someone, giving gifts, or through physical touch. If you're me, you show love through words; if you're Husband, you show love through acts of service. Usually, the way that you naturally show love is also the way that someone can make you feel most loved.

Different love languages mean that people feel loved in different ways. The most amazing example of this was the time when Husband told me that when he loads his dirty plate after dinner (an act of service), he does it to show me he loves me. To me (words girl), loading your plate is just what you do when you get a plate dirty. So, I have to work hard to try to do acts of service for him (and recognize when he does them for me), and he tries to use words to show love to me.

These kinds of discussions about love languages can crop up in the strangest moments. Over the fourth of July weekend, Husband and I went to see the film Public Enemies. In the movie, Johnny Depp plays a bank robber who falls in love with a French girl who checks coats at a night club. The first night they spend together, he gives her a beautiful fur coat. As I'm totally mesmerized by the movie, Husband leans over and whispers in my ear, "I think his love language must be giving gifts."

when he walked in on me watching The Bachelorette

2009-05-18T20:42:00.004-05:00

"These guys are ridiculous."

"You have NO idea. A guy earlier totally locked up. He got out of the limo and couldn't even say anything."

"If I was on that show--"

"WHAT?!?!"

"If I was on that show, I would--"

"WHY ARE YOU ON THAT SHOW?"

"Babe, if I'm on that show, its because I'm a Bachelor."

"WHY ARE YOU A BACHELOR?"

"I'd just walk up, lay one on her for like 10 seconds, and be like, 'You won't forget me now.'"

this is what happens when your wife has a blog

2009-05-13T09:24:00.002-05:00

"My love for you is like a pine tree. It is always in bloom."

"Did you hear that on a movie?"

"No, I just made it up."

"Why?"

"So you'd actually write something nice about me on the internet."

so... we did it

2009-05-09T10:13:00.003-05:00

I feel like I owe it to Husband to give him props for all the support he's given me in the past few months, a dark period known as LOOMING COMPREHENSIVE EXAMS/PhD APPLICATION MADNESS. In our house, we recently lived through a perfect storm of crazy, nearly four months of tears, screaming at laptops, and pacing in front of the mailbox that finally came to an end yesterday afternoon. For any graduate student, two most horrific times in your life are applying for your next program (a process I compare to standing naked in a room full of admissions officers who are poking you with sticks and telling you that you are not good enough) and taking your comprehensive exams to finish your current program (for me, this involved writing 37 pages in three days and then defending those 37 rambling pages to my unhumanly brilliant profesors). Unfortunately for me (and really, who am I kidding, for Husband), these two events happened simultaneously. Thus, the crazy.

I know its hard to believe that I would need emotional support during something like this because I am such an even-tempered, rational person, but I can honestly say that for me this has been one of the defining moments of our marriage because I don't know that I really knew what it meant to be someone's partner until Husband taught me what it means over these past few weeks. His support has been unflinching. Sometimes I imagined him standing outside our house with a shotgun to keep Those Mean People away from his wife because SHE HAS HAD ENOUGH and just needs a break already. He brought me Taco Bueno and took me to get ice cream and massaged my head when it ached, and if you know me, those things are the equivalent of a million dollars plus a really good hair day.

The real low point came a few weeks ago at my parents house. If you know me well enough to read this blog, then you probably know this story already. Even so, I feel the need to put this out there because I think sometimes we have to admit our vulnerabilities. That day at my parents' house, I had what I believe was my first clinically-diagnosable panic attack. I still had no idea if I would get into any PhD program and I was swamped with work for my exams, and then I found out that I needed to have yet another procedure on my toe which would involve NEEDLES IN MY TOE. For some reason, this new development exceeded the amount of Things I Can Handle and I absolutely lost it. I was crying hysterically and having trouble breathing and leaning over the toilet because I thought I was going to vomit, and then Husband was there. He pulled me onto the floor in his lap and held me against his chest and took long, slow breaths. Once I was breathing evenly, he just held me like a child and let me cry. I had never felt so completely torn apart, but I had also never felt so completely loved.

Thankfully, it got better in the following weeks. I was offered a spot in a PhD program with great funding and a department full of people I really like. Last week, I wrote that crazy exam over three horrific days, and yesterday I officially passed my examination defense. I called Husband on my way home and he told me to get home quick because he was on the driveway and ready to celebrate. When I got home, I actually found him streched out on the bed, and while he claimed to just be tired from his day at work, I understood that on some level he was exhausted from weeks and weeks of holding me together. I climbed into bed and burrowed into his chest and asked, "babe, are you excited its over?". His face buried deep in the pillow, I heard him offer a relieved little "Yay!".

And then, we celebrated.

cheeky little bugger

2009-05-06T11:09:00.000-05:00

I may have mentioned here before that one of Husband's favorite pasttimes is Provoking My Wife. Apparently, its always good for a laugh. In the early days of our marriage, I could never understand why Husband would bring up subjects that I considered sensitive, and continue to beat that horse until I collapsed, breathless from all my screaming.

In his defense, when I say he brings up "sensitive subjects," I'm not referencing Western apathy toward genocide in Africa; I mean those really important social imperatives, like "cooking is women's work" and "careers in the liberal arts are meaningless." The really impressive thing, though, is that even though I should know that he does not hold any of these views, he convinces me so thoroughly with his delivery in that moment that I seriously feel the need to argue with him. Loudly.

Eventually, I learned to notice, mid-rant, that he was smirking; after hitting him a few times, I could go on with day. At least this way, I only spent about half the energy I would have exhausted in CONVINCING him that teaching is a profession that is completely devalued.

Even better, I have finally reached a zen place where I can recognize his scandal-mongering for what it is and refuse to respond. Like Ghandi. Or Yoda. I had been doing really well at rejecting his games until this past week when we were visiting his parents. I don't remember exactly how it came up, but Husband, his mother, his aunt, and I were all sitting around talking about laundry. [I know, right? You WISH you partied with us.] And Husband said, AND I QUOTE, "Yeah, I never have clean laundry. If I want clean clothes, I have to wash them myself."

[!!!!!!!!!!#&!&$*!%*!&&@**@!*#!!!!!!!!!!!!!]

Again, I knew he wasn't being serious. I knew he was just playing Provoke My Wife. But he said this IN FRONT OF MY MOTHER IN LAW. Could I possibly let MY MOTHER IN LAW think that I wasn't taking care of her son? That was a low blow, even for Husband. He KNEW making this kind of statement in front of his mom was the one thing that could set me off. The inner battle raged on as I fought to keep my expression neutral. You know, breezy.

"Wow, she is going to kill you."

"Look at her face. Its turning purple."

"I can't believe she's not yelling. Seriously."

[Breezy. I'm breezy. BE ONE WITH THE BREEZY.]

"I usually have to vacuum and clean the bathroom, too."

And that was the day the breezy died.

Pillows, a follow up

2009-04-25T08:27:00.004-05:00

"Husband, I want my pillow back. You stole it, and I want it back."

"You gave it to me."

"No, I didn't give it to you. YOU STOLE IT. You KNEW my neck hurt when you tried to give me your pillow. That is MY pillow. MINE. Motha! bought it for me right before I left for college. She and I bought it. TOGETHER. So, not only are you stealing neck comfort from me, you are also stealing A MEMORY."

"You gave it to me."

"I DID NOT. I realized one night that my neck hurt, and that you had taken my pillow. I made you give the pillow back, but you only stole it from me again. This happened again and again, the stealing and the reclaiming and the complaining and the stealing and the whining, and despite my best efforts to annoy you into leaving me alone, YOU KEPT STEALING MY PILLOW. Finally, out of sheer exhaustion, I just stopped making you give it back. I gave up. You wore me down to my last shred of dignity."

"Right. You gave it to me."

not exactly taking one for the team

2009-04-22T15:02:00.003-05:00

Husband and I really hate going to the grocery store. Its just a pain. In fact, I don't know anyone who actually likes going to the grocery store. Anyone? Seriously? Does anyone like it?

Because of our intense dislike of shopping for groceries (which makes sense for me because I just hate shopping in general, but Husband? The cover model? He who shops for fun? What's up with that?), we usually put it off until the last minute. For us, the last minute is late Sunday night after our Life Group. So, a few nights ago, we found ourselves, once again, trudging to the grocery store.

Sometimes we use the "divide and conquer" method to get ourselves out of there more quickly; Husband will gather his lunch-packing essentials while I take care of produce and dinner items. Well, Sunday night at the last minute I realized that I needed an avacado to serve with our tortilla soup.

"Will you run back and grab an avacado?"

"I don't know how to pick one."

"Really? Its really easy. I'll teach you. You just gently---"

"I'm sorry. What I meant was 'I don't want to'."

you don't find honesty like this everywhere

2009-04-12T21:18:00.003-05:00

"Will you get the gum out?"

"Sure. Here you go."

"I meant get the gum out for you."

"What?"

"Your breath is gross."

[Silence.]

"Husband, you are SO lucky God gave you such a pretty face."

"I know. I think He gave it to me for our marriage. To help me survive."

in which I play a game, but he wins

2009-03-10T17:48:00.005-05:00

Husband and I went to the movies a few weekends ago, and I was really in the mood for lighter fare. We'd been on a string of Oscar movies (Doubt, Rachel Getting Married, Benjamin Button, Slumdog Millionaire) and I really just needed to LAUGH. Because seriously, Oscar movies are not funny. So, to counteract all the socially-conscious, deep-thought-inducing films we'd recently seen, we decided to see He's Just Not That Into You. If you're not familiar, this film is based on a recent book that essentially mocks all of the horrible things women do in relationships. Because, you know, all women are sad and desperate and want nothing more than to cling to the hope of finding true love with whatever schmuck crosses their path. But I digress.

SO, in the spirit of the film we were about to see, I spent the car ride annoying Husband with all kinds of cliche "woman" comments about our "connection" and our "chemistry" and how he "really gets me." It really didn't help that I'd just finished watching a season of The Bachelor, so I had a wealth of material to draw from. I made sure to answer any of his comments by telling him how attractive he is and how he's everything I'm looking for and to fall into high pitched giggles with little to no warning. You can imagine how much fun this game was for him.

He tried at one point to turn the discussion to something more serious by bringing up a moment from Slumdog Millionaire. (As if that would stop me.) We were listening to the (amazing) soundtrack, and he tried to talk about the moment from the film associated with the song we were listening to.

"This is when he sees her on the platform at the train station."

"AWWWWWWWWWW! BAAAAAAAAAAABE! This song is so beautiful. Its the sound of a DEEP connection between people, you know? I hope that THIS is the song you hear when you think of me."

"What?"

"When you think of me. There should be music. Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaabe! Don't you hear music when you think of me?"

"Ummm, no."

"WHAT?!?! Baaaaaaaaaabe, you don't think of me EVER!"

"I'm married to you. What else would I think about?"

"And you miss me when I'm gone. Like, REALLY?"

"Of course I miss you when you're gone. Especially when there's no food."

affirmation

2009-02-19T17:33:00.004-06:00

My latest goal in life is to prepare fully balanced meals.

Wow, that was quite housewife of me. They're going to revoke my Feminist card. [At least The Boss will be pleased.]

When I first got married, I was barely able to get a sufficiently cooked protein on the plate, but I am now feeling like its important to have side dishes and bread thrown into the mix. I have been a bit cocky about this lately. When Husband and I sit down to plates that are full of three or four different food items, I have been known to say things like, "I am so glad I can feed you so well. Aren't you glad you married me? I am basically awesome."

[PLEASE remember before you judge me that I never cooked a day in my life until right before I got married and I still break out into hives when making something for the first time. Don't you remember this little debacle? And this one?]

The only problem with this is that Husband likes very few vegetables that are traditionally used for side items. He does not like corn. He does not like squash. Besides vegetables, I have only ever used rice as a side item, and guess what he REALLY doesn't like? Yeah. Rice. I am basically limited to potatoes and salad. That's it.

About a week ago, I thought I would give green beans a try. BAH! While he took a generous portion, Husband ate about 2.5 green beans. After dinner, I called him out about it.

"Wow, so no green beans, huh?"

"Yeah..... green beans are gross."

I think he noticed my crestfallen expression at my failure to provide acceptable side items because he immediately grabbed my butt and said, "YOUR green beans were delicious."

[Smirk.]

brown bag

2009-02-10T18:45:00.003-06:00

I may have mentioned a time or two that I am a penny-pincher. I actually don't think there is a word in the English language to describe my intense desire to save money. I never buy anything that isn't absolutely necessary. I don't buy clothing for myself unless I absolutely need it for a specific purpose; why do so when you can get clothing for Christmas from your parents? When it comes to groceries, I buy necessities--as in, what is needed to sustain life--only. I never bought anything like cookies or ice cream, which I consider superfluous and indulgent, until I married Husband, the consummate sweet tooth. There is almost nothing I wouldn't do to save a few bucks.

If you know Husband and I, you know that this creates.... tension... between us at times. Husband is much more well-adjusted when it comes to money. He doesn't consider buying ice cream a crime, and he isn't racked with guilt when he goes out to eat. He also tends to make purchases that I don't quite understand. (Did you NEED that shirt? Were you told to buy it for work? Are you performing with a doo-wop group that calls for some kind of uniform? WHAT WAS THE SPECIFIC REASON FOR BUYING THE SHIRT?)

I tend to lose my mind most frequently over the fact that we eat out so much. Husband and I LOVE to go out for dinner, which can be rather costly. On a given weekend, we may eat out Friday night, Saturday night, and Sunday afternoon. In addition, Husband tends to buy lunch every day of the week. Admit it, even for you normal people, that seems like a lot. To me it is MADNESS.

Husband has always said (at least for the past year or so) that he would eat a sandwich for lunch every day if I would pack it for him. Pack you own sandwich, I would retort. And so, the sandwich would go unmade, and another $7 would be spent that day on lunch. ($7 A DAY! FIVE DAYS A WEEK! I am hyperventilating just describing it.) Every few weeks, when I have my regular panic attack about the money we spend eating out, Husband reminds me that really, its my own fault that he eats out for lunch because if I would make him a bag lunch, he would eat it.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Finally, two weeks ago, I finally got over my aversion to the "make my lunch for me" idea in favor of saving money. I bought all the lunch meat, chips, and cookies (of course) needed to feed Husband for the week, and every morning, he wakes me up (usually by screaming "SANDWICH!") so I can feel like we are saving money. He has even taken to taunting me in the morning, a la "I'm about leave! You better make me lunch or I will be forced to go out! Probably somewhere expensive!"

(Have we discussed the fact that Husband lists among his hobbies Getting a Rise Out of My Wife?)

Anyway, this morning, I was gently awoken with a kiss on my forehead and a whispered goodbye. Darting out of bed, I cried out in my coffee-less morning stupor, "LUNCH! I GOT IT! GIVE ME TWO MINUTES!"

"I'm leaving."

"But... lunch!?"

"I'm on my way out the door."

"NO! Lunch!"

Patting my arm, he says, nonchalantly, "Oh, I made my own lunch."

If I didn't know my granny reads this (hi!), I would say that THAT is the language that can get a man lucky.

I commenced with cooing and petting and telling him how I proud I was. He just kissed me again and headed for the car. As I laid back down in the glow of marital bliss, I heard him call from the door,

"Just this once."

pillow negotiations

2009-02-05T17:16:00.004-06:00

So, Husband and I have been fighting lately over a pillow.

Husband is ridiculously particular about his pillows. I have already taken him to Bed, Bath & Beyond TWICE to buy him a new pillow because something was wrong with the last one we purchased. Each time, he tries to convince me that I was the one who talked him into buying the last, obviously inadequate, pillow. He didn't want that pillow; I MADE him buy that pillow. Thus, he needs a new pillow of his own choosing.

About ten days ago, I realized that neck was really hurting. After a little sleuthing, I noticed that Husband had switched our pillows. Generally, I prefer a solid pillow with lots of neck support, while Husband has always purchased softer pillows. Apparently, I had been sleeping for a few days on the flat pillow that Husband had suddenly disregarded. When confronted, Husband resorted to his usual tactics.

"My pillow is HORRIBLE."

"We JUST bought that pillow for you a few months ago! Don't you remember? We spent like an hour in there while you tried out EVERY SINGLE PILLOW THEY HAD. You chose that pillow and would not hear of any other pillow. WE BOUGHT THE EXPENSIVE PILLOW. You have to live with your choice."

"But I hate it."

Naturally, I beat Husband with the pillow a little bit, then took it back.

However, the next night, Husband accused ME of stealing HIS pillow.

"Give me my pillow."

"I'm sorry, are you asking if you can use MY pillow?"

"I'm saying you need to give me MY pillow back."

"MY NECK IS SORE. I CAN'T SLEEP WITH YOUR PANCAKE PILLOW."

Some friendly pillowfighting commenced, but I managed to sleep with my own pillow that night. Since then, a subtle pillow conspiracy has been unfolding in our house. The pillow migrates to various locations as we each try to steal it without the other noticing. I have resorted to swapping other pillows from the guestroom or taking pillows out of shams in a desperate attempt to keep my beloved pillow, but I have a feeling Husband still has a few tricks up his sleeve. All I can say is that if we are coming over, hide any and all bedding you want to keep. I think he would snatch a friend's pillow before asking his tightwad wife to buy him yet another pillow.

a 3 Skittle marriage

2009-01-29T10:02:00.003-06:00

About a week ago, Husband brought home a bag of Skittles from work. Husband is a chronic snacker, and accumulates a lot of snacks at work. He has been known to walk to a nearby Wal-Mart to stock up on munchies to stockpile in his desk. So, I was actually surprised that he only brought home a regular sized bag of Skittles, but he let me know that he left the family size bag at work.

SO, after dinner, Husband whips out the Skittles, which naturally prompted a request from me.

"Can I have some?"

"No."

"What?!"

"You don't just want 'some.' If I give you a few, you'll want the rest of the bag."

"Not true! [Yeah, that's probably true.] I asked for 'some' and that is what I meant."

"That is not what you meant."

"So I really can't have any?"

"No."

Not surprisingly, I got all pouty and began analyzing what this lack of sharing means to our relationship. I mean, really? No Skittles? Well, if we don't share Skittles, I can think of a few other things maybe we won't share, either, mister! NO SHARING. Its officially every man for himself in this house. Next time you need some dinner, get it yourself! You can clean your own bathroom! AND DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT TOUCHING ONE OF MY BOOKS. MINE.

A few minutes later, probably to shut me up, Husband offered me the bag.

"Here, you can have the rest."

"Awwwwwww! That's so sweet, babe! I knew you would--- WHAT?! THREE SKITTLES! YOU LEFT ME THREE SKITTLES? Since when do we have a three Skittle marriage?! Is that all I MEAN to you?! THREE SKITTLES?"

Being married to me must truly be such a joy.

The next day, I had totally forgotten about the entire Skittle debacle until Husband came home with nearly an entire bag of Skittles.

"Here, babe. I brought you this so you wouldn't think we have a three Skittle marriage. You can have as many of my Skittles as you want."

And that is why I married him. He listens to me even when I'm loud and shrieky, and he lets me eat his candy.

reaction

2009-01-14T18:52:00.002-06:00

"Babe, I wrote on the blog!"

"Oh yeah, what about?"

"You'll just have to read it and find out."

"Well, it can't be about me because I didn't do anything stupid........... did I?"

query

2009-01-09T22:46:00.004-06:00

So, earlier tonight, we're Trashmagging, an activity wherein we go to the bookstore and sit for hours reading magazines for free (recession? huzzah!), and in one of my lady mags I come across one of those mind-boggling polls that is supposed to give me deep insight into the male psyche.

Magazines targeted to women are truly horrible.

Anyway, the poll, which claimed to survey 1000 men, asked said men to rate, in order of importance, the attributes they most desire in a wife. The results?

1. Financially saavy

Obviously, I stopped right there because the poll immediately lost all credibility. FINANCIALLY SAAVY? Seriously? Where did they find these men? I'm not thinking I know a single adult male who would, upon meeting, say, Heidi Klum, pause to consider, but what about her portfolio?

Amusingly, there is nothing in this poll about sex or physical appearance until the fifth most desired characteristic. The men in the survey rank intelligence (2), independence (3), and loyalty (4) higher than a willingness to "close your eyes and do your duty" on a regular basis (actual advice given to a friend of mine by her sweet grandmother... at her wedding in front of all her friends).

Everything Cosmo ever taught me about men has been a lie.

I lean across my huge pile of glossies to ask Husband, "if asked, what would you say is the characteristic you most desire in a wife?". I can tell from his freaked out expression that he fears a trap, like I've just asked him if these jeans make me look fat.

"This poll," I say, shoving the magazine under his face, "asked men what they most desire in a wife and they claim the number one answer was that she be financially saavy. FINANCIALLY SAAVY."

"Oh." I've never seen him look so relieved. "I guess its the times we're in. New set of priorities. If it weren't for this economy, number 5 would be number one."

Is this true, gentlemen? Are we suddenly living in some alternate universe where Suze Orman is a more desirable partner than Angelina Jolie? Are you looking for the woman who can bring home the bacon for the cheapest price?

A few minutes later, Husband started whimpering about wanting coffee, and would I please get him some?

"Oh no, dear. In this economy, we have to watch our pennies."

"Hmm."

"But how desirable am I right now?!"

endless source of material

2008-11-12T21:25:00.003-06:00

So, we're eating out tonight, and we have a particularly colorful waiter. He first dazzled us with a fascinating story about how he fell asleep after watching some friends play football and woke up 5 MINUTES before his shift started. 5 MINUTES! HILARIOUS!

As he walks away, I start to laugh about how crazy this guy is, when Husband says, "Give him a break. He's an over share-er, like you."

Now, this is totally true. I am infected with the need to overshare. I tell random store clerks and Starbucks baristas my life story, and Husband's as well when he is with me. Pharmicists generally get to enjoy my ENTIRE health history when I pick up my perscriptions. People at church know way too much about our marraige. STILL, comparing me to this guy was just too much.

Later, as he is clearing our plates, Waiter asks if we managed to save any room for dessert.

"No," I say. "We're totally full."

Waiter: "Yeah, I am always trying to sell desserts, but it never happens."

Me: "Well, we're Americans. We overeat."

Waiter: "Yeah, then we all join gyms. Owning a gym must be the easiest job! People always join, but never go."

Me: "Except for this guy." [gesturing to Husband] "He just lost 50 pounds."

[HE HE.]

Waiter: "Yeah, really? That's awesome! I tried to do that once. I kept it off for a while, but then I gained it all back. Not right away, but like over a few years........ [insert 5 minutes of rambling and some weird sound effects mimicking the sound of jiggling fat]. So, that's awesome about your weight loss, man! How did you do it? Exercise? Just getting off your rump?"

Husband: "Yep."

Waiter: "That's awesome!"

So, he leaves with the plates and we are struggling to keep straight faces. I was really proud of Husband for managing to hold it together, considering the bomb I dropped on him. But then Waiter returns with the check.

"Well man, congratulations on your weight loss. That might just inspire me to lose 50 pounds myself!".

Husband smiles until the guy is out of earshot, then says, "This means you will finally write on the blog!"

revealing a new crush

2008-09-21T16:03:00.004-05:00

So, we're eating lunch with Motha! and Husband's dad, Mack. Motha! is telling us all about the American Idols Live Tour that she went to last weekend at a new venue in our hometown.

Mack: "So, is that new place getting a lot of good concerts?"

Motha!: "Yeah, the Eagles opened it, and then American Idols Live, and--"

Me: "Isn't the So You Think You Can Dance tour coming there?"

Motha!: "Yes, in October. And Carrie Underwood is coming next month!"

Me: "Oooooh! Tickets! Get tickets!"

Motha!: "I was thinking about it, actually."

Me: "If you get them, get me one! I want to go."

Husband: "Would these be, ummm, front row tickets? Right up close? Where we can see her?"

Motha!: "Why? Why are you so interested in going, HMMMM?"

Mack: "Those sound like some good seats."

Husband: "She's a good singer."

Motha!: "You can hear her JUST FINE from further back."

Me: "Ummm, you can hear her just fine ON THE RADIO."

living your vows

2008-09-18T16:38:00.003-05:00

I have this teeny little problem when I drive. I tend to scream (loudly) at other drivers when they do inappropriate things like cut me off, swerve into my lane, or leave their blinker on. Unfortunately, I can't keep myself from doing this even when I am on the phone, and I tend to interrupt myself (and others) with my commentary.

"So, today, my students discussed this essay that talked how-- HEY BUDDY, AM I BOTHERING YOU? I WAS JUST OVER HERE DRIVING IN BETWEEN THE LINES, BUT DON'T LET ME BOTHER YOU WHILST YOU TRY OUT YOUR NEW DRIVING OVER THE LINES TECHNIQUE!"

What's the big deal, right?

This particular habit is really annoying to Husband, so annoying that he has enacted a ban on talking to me while I am driving. Which I was doing this afternoon when he called me. THUS:

"Hi! You called me back!"

"Yeah, I got your message."

"Baaaaaabe, I always have to leave you a sweet message to PROVE that I called since you always say your phone didn't say that I called."

"Yeah, didn't see that one coming."

"So, I'm on my way home."

"You're driving?"

"Yes."

"Gotta go."

"Babe, no! I can do better, I promise! I bet I can go this entire conversation without screaming at other drivers."

"I doubt it."

"Babe, you vowed, 'in sickness and in health.'"

"Yes, this is your sickness."

oh my word this just happened in Target I am not even kidding

2008-09-14T20:19:00.003-05:00

So, we're in Target and I need to buy some baby whipes because the vet said I should be cleaning the puppy in between baths. (I know, right? HIGH MAINTENANCE. ) (Like her mommy.) Off we go to the baby section, and we've just turned onto the aisle when Husband starts to act like he's about to break into hives.

"I'm having an anxiety attack."

"Because of the baby aisle? Come on."

"Seriously."

[chuckles deviously] "You mean this doesn't make you excited about having children? Look at these diaper bags. They're so cute! [picks one up and models it] Do you like this one? I promise that we'll get a not-so-girly diaper bag so you won't feel silly carrying it. Do you want to look at this one?"

[HUSBAND'S EYES WIDEN UNTIL IT SEEMS THEY WILL INVOLUNTARILY LEAVE SOCKETS]

"AWWWW! Look at these little baby baths! Can you WAIT until you get to give your child its first bath? Seriously, if that doesn't bring a tear to your eye, you are made of stone."

"We HAVE to get out of here NOW."

"Ok, fine. [Spots aisle of baby clothes.] ONESIES! HOW CUTE!"

[HAS VIOLENT COUGHING FIT]

java

2008-09-08T20:33:00.004-05:00

The most important part of my morning ritual is coffee. It may be a bit cliche for a graduate student in literature, but I drink A LOT of coffee. On weekends, I drink two or three cups whilst lounging around. One weekdays, I take it with me to get me through early morning teaching.

The responsibility for brewing the morning coffee has fluctuated between Husband and I in the two years we've been married. For the first year and half (if not more), Husband always made the coffee. Even when I had to get up and leave much earlier than he did, I would get out of the shower and shout "COFFEE?!?!" and he would [bless him] drag himself into the kitchen and make the magic juice that makes his wife shut up and leave him alone. Well, some time this summer, I started making the coffee instead because I (usually) take Jaci out first thing in the morning to go to the bathroom. [So when I said the responsibility fluctuated, I meant that he has always done it and I am finally pulling some weight around here.]

Well, this morning, I stumbled into the kitchen to get the pot going, and THE COFFEE WAS MISSING. WHERE IS THE COFFEE? Suddenly wide awake, I went back into the bedroom (where Husband was still sleeping) and shouted "WHERE IS THE COFFEE!?!". Used to this kind of fit, Husband calmly informed me that our stock is completely gone.

"We have no coffee?"

"No. I noticed that yesterday"

"Why didn't you tell me that last night?"

"I forgot."

"Well, I GUESS I will just go without since you didn't TELL me we don't have any and I DIDN'T BUILD TIME INTO MY MORNING TO MAKE A STARBUCKS RUN."

I really take setbacks so well.

Later in the afternoon, during Daily Phone Call, Husband complained that he wasn't feeling well:

"My body hates me."

"Awww, I'm sorry. What doesn't feel right?"

"I have a really horrible headache."

"Maybe you need to drink more water?"

"Or maybe its because you didn't make me any coffee this morning."

spoiled rotten

2008-09-07T14:16:00.004-05:00

Our dog, Jaci, takes her role as Princess of the Universe quite seriously. We brought her home about three months ago, and not a moment has passed that she has not taken the opportunity to remind us exactly WHO is running our house now. When she wants something, she will look you dead in the face, DARING you to deny her, and bark these yippy little princess barks, unleashing the full force of the spaniel eyes until you have totally forgotten what you were doing and are making yourself crazy trying to anticipate her every need. What is it, little princess? Bathroom? Food? Treat? Complete devotion of my time and energy?

Because we are suckers, the dog has been sleeping in bed with us since we got her. This, I feel, is where the diva in her truly comes out. I always imagined I'd someday have a dog that would curl up lovingly at my feet, but to do so would be to admit that we are the parents and she is the child, so JACI sleeps WITH HER HEAD ON MY PILLOW. The first time she crawled up next to me and laid her head next to mine, I almost fell off the bed from laughing so hard. She positions herself between Greg and I to achieve maximum attention from both of us. No matter how close together we are laying, she will wedge herself between us. Because why be loved by one parent when there are two available?

Husband is going to kill me for posting this picture, but one night when I came home really late and he was already in bed, this is what I found.

There are no words.

some will appreciate this more than others

2008-06-04T10:29:00.010-05:00

In college, Husband and I were both in the Christian college equivalent of Greek houses. His "fraternity," Chi Lambda Phi, and my "sorority," Gamma Rho, were a big part of our social lives and really part of the reason that we met in the first place.

There is something you should know about Husband's brotherhood, Chi. They are incredibly..... proud of themselves. Now, they have good reason to feel that way, as they win everything and generally attract the best guys (and the hottest girlfriends, of course). Still, this is part of their reputation. The good thing about these guys is that they know their reputation and they can laugh at it. And those of us who know the guys personally know that, as Husband puts it, they just can't help being AWESOME.

One of the things that Chi always wins is Spring Sing, the yearly show at our school that involves each club singing and dancing around like manic idiots for 6 minutes at a time. These white, Church of Christ boys are somehow magically gifted with the ability to dance, flip, and sing as a unit. Even when I wanted to kill them all for beating Gamma a bazillion years in a row, I still got little goosebumps watching them. I always felt like these were my boys.

WELL, flash forward to our trip to DC last week. [PLEASE KEEP IN MIND WE GRADUATED FROM COLLEGE TWO YEARS AGO.] We had just finished watching the changing of the gaurd at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier at Arlington National Cemetery. This ceremony, if you haven't seen it, is amazing. These soldiers perform this intricate series of marching, saluting, and arms presentation in the sweltering heat that makes saps like me tear up.

As we were walking down the hill right after the ceremony, I observed:

"That was incredible. It was like a dance, so sychronized and exact and perfectly executed."

To which Husband replied,

"Like a Chi Spring Sing show!"

Totally the same, right?

he should really think about the potential of his actions to end up on the Internet

2008-06-03T09:17:00.004-05:00

On one of the last nights of our vacation, Husband and I were absolutely exhausted. After four days of walking around in the heat, we couldn't do much more. We decided to go back to our hotel around 4:00 and rest a little bit before dinner. Once we'd taken off our shoes, changed into more comfortable clothes, and settled into bed, we started channel surfing and landed on HBO. HBO is one of those luxuries that we only enjoy in hotels because I am too cheap to pay for anything more than basic cable. During vacation, we watched a LOT of movies on HBO.

This particular late afternoon, with the sun slanting behind the DC skyline, I had control of the remote. When I came across The Devil Wears Prada on HBO, I thought I would see how long I could watch it before Husband started wrestling me for the controller. To my GREAT surprise, Husband was absolutely ENTHRALLED by Meryl Streep and the fabulous clothes in this movie. WE WATCHED OVER AN HOUR OF THIS MOVIE with not a peep from him. Finally, around 6:30, I was getting really hungry.

"Babe, I'm really starving."

"But we're watching this movie."

"Ummmm, yes. I'm actually really surprised that we are still watching this movie."

"Really? Why?"

"Well, it doesn't strike me as your kind of movie."

"Babe, its FASHION." [THAT IS A DIRECT QUOTE.]

"I see."

"Well, what happens to her?" [The movie had reached the moment where the main character has to decide if she will continue in her horrible job in hopes of getting ahead or be true to herself.]

"You're concerned about how this movie ends?"

"What does she DO!?"

"Well.... are you sure you want me to tell you? You don't want to watch the rest of it later?"

"If we're going to eat, you have to tell me."

So, barely stifling my laughter, I told Husband how the movie ended. He seemed satisfied with the ending, so we could finally go eat.

As we were walking to dinner, I decided not to let this little incident go without comment.

"Babe, don't worry, if you really want to watch the ending of the movie, I have it at home. We can watch it when we get home."

"What movie?"

"The one we were just watching."

"I have no idea what you are talking about."

"The movie you were just dying to know the ending of. THE DEVIL WEARS PRADA."

"I've never heard of that movie before."

"So we're gonna play it that way, huh?"

"You can't prove a thing."

"I've got one word for you, sucker. BLOG."

dinner time

2008-05-31T17:35:00.005-05:00

Husband: "So, where do you want to eat?"

Me: "Ummm... I don't know. What are we close to?"

"Van's Pig Stand?"

"Eww."

"Well, you suggest something."

"OH! I want ARBYS. We're right by one, too!"

"No."

[Silence]

Husband: "Well?"

Me: "I don't know. Its your turn to suggest something. I want Arbys, but you turned it down. Thus, you have to make a suggestion."

"Fine. McDONALDS."

"Ummm, no."

"Well, then I guess its your turn, isn't it?"

"Fine. Benvenuti's. [really expensive Italian restaurant where we only go for our wedding anniversaries]

"Jerk. You know that's not a valid suggestion. You're just trying to get out of suggesting. Charlestons?"

"Since we're both wearing shorts and ball caps, I'm gonna say no."

"HA! Your turn again."

"Ummmm.... [glancing out the window] CiCi's pizza? [NOT SERIOUS.]"

"Ok."

"What? NOOOOOOOO!"

"Ha! Gotcha!"

[I'll give you three guesses where we ended up going, but you won't need them. Husband likes to talk big and put up a fight, but he always gives me my way.]

close one

2008-05-31T14:00:00.003-05:00

Greg has this feature on his Iphone that lets you check the weather in cities around the world. While we were on vacation last week, we would check the weather in DC, but also at home in Oklahoma and in Spain where Brother Robby is studying right now. We mostly enjoyed the fact that it was 10 degrees cooler in DC than in Oklahoma at any given time. But our glee was abruptly cut short.

"Oh my word."

"What?"

"Oh my word. Do you see that?"

"What?"

"The temperature in Norman on Monday."

"OH MY WORD."

"Yeah, 98 degrees. 98 DEGREES IN NORMAN ON MONDAY."

"Just think, babe, that's about the temperature it was on our wedding day. Doesn't it make you think about our wedding?"

"I don't want to think about it."

"What?! You don't want to THINK about our WEDDING DAY?!"

"No, I meant the weather. The heat."

"Oh, ok."

"Not really. You got me. That was a nice save though, right?"

One of the best Husband quotes ever

2008-05-15T17:46:00.005-05:00

Whilst getting dressed one morning...

"Babe, your underwear matches your shirt today."

"Well, sometimes a girl needs a secret to get her through the day."

"I always have a secret that gets me through the day."

"You do? What?"

"That I'm AWESOME."

Jaci, or "the princess" to you

2008-05-14T22:05:00.008-05:00

Six weeks from now, our lives will change forever. We'll work out a feeding schedule. We will lose sleep. We will have less spending money. We will be responsible for the well-being of another living thing.

That's right. We're getting a dog.

Because I am me, I started researching puppies a long time ago. Like, two years ago. Before we even got married. I decided on a breed, and spent hours on my laptop researching breeders. Finally, in March, I went to visit a breeder in southwest Oklahoma, and fell in love. It was an immediate and irreversible love. The kind of love that would result in drawing hearts with our entwined initials in my Trapper Keeper.

Yes, I am now one of those women with a small dog that she considers the equivalent of actual human offspring. I promise to never carry her around in one of those bags or take her to the mall with me, but are you seeing this face? Seriously? I couldn't think she was any cuter if I'd created her with my own genetic material. Luckily, I am not alone:

She is going to render him utterly powerless with her cuteness, no? I cannot WAIT for the softie he will become when she is around all the time. It makes me want to have a daughter just so we can gang up on him and bat our eyes until he hands over his wallet FROM THE SHEER FORCE OF OUR CHARMS.

Unfortunately, as I mentioned, we have to wait 6 weeks until we move to bring her home. She is living with the breeder until then and being immensely spoiled, which will be good practice for when she moves in with us. There isn't a treat in the world that face couldn't get me to hand over.

this story was a long time in coming

2008-03-19T10:03:00.005-05:00

It is a truth universally acknowledged that when Husband is sick, he wants to be left alone. No affectionate coos from his wife. No preparing of cold compresses. No soup on a tray. LEFT. ALONE.

It took me a while to get used to this, but eventually I came around. I now leave him completely alone when he's sick, hoping to minimize the Husbandly crankiness.

Given this history, you can imagine my amusement upon experiencing the following.

About a month ago, Husband was sickly for several days, which meant I spent several days tiptoeing around the apartment trying to make myself scarce. On the tail end of the sickness, he was languishing on the couch in the late afternoon and asked (for the first time in several days) what was for dinner.

"Well, I bought stuff for shrimp scampi, but I always keep an emergency can of chicken soup, so I'll heat that up for you."

"I hate soup from a can."

[Blank stare, which barely conceals my internal monologue of "well you're out of luck, then, huh?" I've never been skilled at hiding my feelings.]

"Will you make me chicken and wild rice soup?"

"Ummm, I don't really have the stuff for it."

[Insert pathetic, I-never-ask-you-for-anything sick face here.]

"I guess I can go to the store."

So, off to the store I went to buy the makings of chicken and wild rice soup. On the way, I called Motha! with an exasperated "I just want you to know I'm loving my Husband right now!". [To which her reply, understandably, was "right now?"]

The soup was made, Husband was a happy little recovering man, and all was right in the Hobbit Hole.

The next day, Husband was again languishing on the aforementioned couch, from whence he asked, "what's for dinner?"

"Mexican."

"Breakfast for dinner?"

"You must not have heard me. Mexican."

"Breakfast for dinner?"

[Sigh.] "Well, I have stuff for eggs and toast, so breakfast for dinner would work, too."

"Biscuits?"

"Babe, I don't have biscuits. I have toast."

"BISCUITS?!"

So would you believe that for the second day in a row, I hauled myself to the grocery store, this time TO BUY BISCUITS.

Thankfully, once I told this story to all our friends at church, I was rewarded by their insistence on henceforth calling him Sir Biscuits.

I finally learned how to make his favorite

2008-01-19T10:04:00.000-06:00

Gorgeous turtle cheescake

[which didn't even crack, thank you very much]

January 17

bringing it back

2008-01-18T21:42:00.000-06:00

scenes from a family dinner, in which the participants discuss the idiosyncrasies of acapella singing:

Me: We're definitely not short on the joy in our singing here. We "fly away" on a regular basis. Its nice, though, the joy.

The Boss: Yeah, at least its not the other extreme. [deadpans, straight-faced and monotone] Praise the Lord. Thank you, Lord.

Motha!: Please! Sometimes I can't keep myself from gettin' down. I just hope people around me don't make fun of the way I sing. I don't use the suggested notes. I pick my own notes.

Brother Robby: I've decided that you get to pick someone that you sound like to God. When you sing, He actually hears the other person. I picked John Mayer.

Husband: Hey, I do that, too!

Motha!: Yeah? Who are you?

Husband: [sheepishly] Justin Timberlake.

There are other seasonings, Monica.

2008-01-17T21:23:00.000-06:00

I grew up in a family that ate garlic cloves like Lifesavers. My mom put garlic in everything. The smell of garlic is like my own personal happy place.

Apparently, not everyone loves it as much as I do. Greg reacts to garlic like a vampire. [Vampire? Doesn't garlic kill vampires? Did I make that up?] He'll walk into our apartment as I'm making dinner, which always involves sauteeing garlic, and turn right around and walk back out. He teases me about my tendency to put garlic in everything. Seriously. There is nothing that wouldn't be a little bit better with some garlic in it.

So we're make hamburgers on my new grill pan [thanks, Motha!], and I decide to make some homemade fries. Because I'm an overachiever. I got a recipe for homemade fries that you toss in olive oil, rosemary, red pepper flakes, and [you guessed it] garlic. THEY. WERE. AWESOME.

When Husband came home, he immediately tasted the fries. "They're good," he says. "What's in them?"

"Rosemary, red pepper flakes, and garlic."

"You couldn't go ONE meal without garlic."

"Don't worry, its in your burger, too."

where brevity really is his strong point

2007-12-23T15:21:00.000-06:00

Little Scotty is famous in this family for his homemade cards. Birthdays and other holidays are more exciting because you can't wait to see what your card from Little Scotty will say. He has an uncanny ability to take a sheet of computer paper and some markers and create gold. These are cards that you keep forever, that you show off to your friends and coworkers. His cards can capture in an image and a few sentences everything that a year has meant or everything that you hope to see in yourself...

...which is why I've chosen to share the following--the text of the card that Little Scotty gave to Brother Robby for Christmas this year--with all of you.

This is officially the most attractive gift you will ever receive. You're welcome.

Overheard Whilst Purchasing His New Phone

2007-12-18T21:12:00.000-06:00

Little Scotty: I'm trying to copy the numbers on the SIM card to the phone.

Me: You know, you could just read the manual.

Little Scotty: Sis, manuals are for the women.

lesson learned

2007-12-12T15:53:00.001-06:00

For the past few days, we've been living with the frustrations of having no electricity, no hot water, and no heat. These things tend to make me cranky. [I know, right? Me? Cranky?] The ice storms has reduced me to a whiny toddler who fixates on things like the fact I haven't showered for three days, and generally drives everyone around me absolutely bananas.

Luckily, Brother Robby's house has still been warm, full of light, and able to power laptops. I am seriously only in possession of my sanity today because he let us camp out on his couch. Because of his generosity, we only endure the cold when we return to our sad, dark house at night and go directly to bed, laying there for hours listening to a cacophony of rain, sirens, and breaking tree limbs.

Two nights ago, we awoke in the middle of the night because the sound of a cracking tree limb was so close to our window that we were convinced it was either gunfire or someone bursting through our front door. Well, what I actually awoke to was Husband throwing his body on top of mine and brandishing his flashlight like a lightsaber, piercing the darkness in search of our foolish would-be assailant.

May I never again claim that chivalry is dead.

I have no title for this entry because every title I've thought up would get me in trouble

2007-12-08T10:48:00.001-06:00

it's spreading

2007-11-22T22:14:00.000-06:00

I once imagined that Husband's Piling problem was restricted to our apartment. That was until we arrived at his parents' house for Thanksgiving last night and he immediately unpacked as if he intended to move back in. Clothes on the floor, clothes in the closet, watch/ring/wallet/iPhone on the dresser....

The Piles are officially an epidemic.

He even took out a towel and draped it over the shower. He plugged in his laptop and phone charger. He draped his jeans over the end of the bed. All of which makes me realize: The Piles are a territorial gesture used to demarcate ownership. And I think Husband was a little unsettled that he had to leave room in his old room for little ole me. With all the piling going on, I thought I might have to sleep on the couch.

at dinner last night

2007-11-17T12:43:00.000-06:00

"Remember when we came here with your parents about two weeks after we got married?"

"Not really."

"Remember? They asked us how we liked being married, and you said that I never put the toilet paper roll on the thing correctly."

"Oh yeah! I remember that."

"I think about it all the time because I always have to stop and think about how I put the roll on there so I will do it right."

"Ummm.... you still do it wrong."

"WHAT?!"

"Yeah, I have to change it every time."

"WHAT? For the past year and a half, I have wasted valuable seconds of my life making sure I put the roll on correctly for you so you would know I love you enough to do it right. ITS ALL IN THE DETAILS."

"Well, I always change it."

"When we go home, we are going straight into the bathroom and settling this once and for all. And now I will always associate this place with toilet paper."

a house divided

2007-11-04T21:27:00.000-06:00

"Wait, who are we rooting for?"

"The Patriots."

"Why? Why not Peyton? I refuse to root for Tom Brady. I don't support Dead Beat Dads who leave their Baby Momma for Brazilian Super Models."

"Well, I HATE Peyton Manning."

"Why? How can you hate Peyton Manning?"

"All he does is sit in the back and pass the ball."

"Ummm.... isn't he the quarterback?"

"Yes."

"And isn't the quarterback, by definition, 'he who passes the ball'?"

"He's supposed to manage the offense. I don't like his style of play."

"So, you don't like the way he plays?"

"No."

"But you don't have a reason?"

"Well, he played at Tennessee."

"What?"

"I hate Tennessee."

"You hate Peyton because he played at Tennessee? Why do you hate Tennessee?"

"Because Peyton Manning played there."

shame

2007-11-03T22:31:00.001-05:00

Something I can't believe I actually said in real life, which proves that he should be the inspiration for a sitcom or at least star in his own reality show:

"Were you LOOKING AT THE TV while you were kissing me?!"

I won't even try to explain that one.

[I mean, its one thing to make sure you get the seat at the restaurant that faces the tv when the game is on. I mean, I didn't want to enjoy your conversation anyway. But WHILE KISSING? That deserves to be posted on the Internet.]

a bit Freudian

2007-10-30T14:06:00.000-05:00

I had the strangest dream last night that Little Scotty was 3 years old again and I was taking him grocery shopping. He was the cutest baby version of Little Scotty, screaming with glee when I offered him some Jello and chasing me down the supermarket aisle with a stalk of celery. [He went through a sword phase, which I somehow reinterpreted in my dream as a stalk of celery.]

What do I get from this dream? My ridiculous baby phase is definitely not over.

the rules

2007-10-28T12:32:00.000-05:00

We've been working hard in our house to teach Husband the rules of Taking Care of Others Before Yourself. As I was growing up, we were never allowed to do anything for ourselves without asking if everyone else in the room would like the same thing. For example, if I wanted a chocolate bar from the pantry, I would have to first ask, "Brother Robby, Little Scotty, would either of you like a chocolate bar?" [to which the answer was always yes] and THEN I could proceed to procure myself some chocolate. This rule mostly applied to food and beverage. When making oneself a drink, one should ask if anyone else in the house would like a drink. When taking one's plate from the table to the sink, all other plates must be given the opportunity to join.

Here was another example of rules that Husband didn't QUITE understand when we got married. I'd ask him if I could make him a sandwich and he'd say no. NO? REALLY? No one ever says no to a sandwich. But then, seconds later, Husband would get up to make himself and drink and HE WOULDN'T ASK ME IF I WANTED ONE!? This seriously blew my mind. I think I assumed that Taking Care of Others Before Yourself was in that mystical parenting handbook that they send you home from the hospital with. I thought everyone knew the rules.

When Husband would point out to me that I already had a drink, so why did he need to offer to make me one?, I realized that it was a simple case of misunderstanding. TCoOBY has NOTHING to do with what one already has-- its the GESTURE that counts. Its acknowledging that you would be willing to take care of it if the need arose.

[Seriously, aren't you glad you are not married to me?]

So this afternoon, we had a small discussion on the rules of this particular game. It started when Husband thought he caught me disregarding the system by clearing my own plate and not asking for his [in my defense, he was still eating when I stood up].

"You cleared your plate and didn't ask if you could take mine."

"Well, you made yourself a drink and didn't ask me if I wanted one!" [Mature, I know. I never said I understand important things like communication.]

"A plate of food has greater value than a cup of soda."

"No, it doesn't. Offering someone a beverage has more weight than clearing someone's plate after they've already eaten."

"Not true."

"Babe, you don't know the rules. I'm teaching you the rules."

"I AM the rules."

technological let down

2007-10-23T22:28:00.000-05:00

The iPhone and I are fighting.

We're at the coffee house and a hilarious exchange occurs. I had yet to post on the blog today, [BECAUSE I HAD TO READ 100 PAGES OF CHAUCER IN MIDDLE ENGLISH. MIDDLE ENGLISH.] so I was pretty excited about the gem that had fallen into my lap unexpectedly.

The thought strikes me: finally, the iPhone will be good for something. I can use the iPhone to post on the blog RIGHT NOW! How exciting! No waiting until I get back to my laptop. It will be like real-time reporting. I was already composing the post in my head. "Guess what? This story I'm about to tell you? It just happened, like 5 minutes ago. And you already get to hear about it! Hooray for the marvels of modern technology!"

So Husband grants me use of the iPhone so I can post. I notice immediately that my fingers are too fat for its little keyboard. See how society constructs an unattainable standard of body image? ONLY SKINNY-FINGERED PEOPLE CAN USE THE iPHONE. WHAT WOULD TYRA BANKS SAY ABOUT THAT?!

Then, as I'm attempting to log into the blog server, the iPhone craps out and defaults back to its home screen. I think that is the Apple equivalent of the middle finger.

Apple products officially hate me. Its not enough that Apple takes Husband away from me into the abyss of i-features. To add insult to injury, Apple discriminates against fat fingers and whiny bloggers.

Happy Dia Del Birth, Pappy!

2007-10-22T11:35:00.000-05:00

Scene: Taco Bueno in Denton, TX

Brother Robby: So, dad, in your illustrious years on this earth, what has been your most meaningful day? Your greatest memory?

Me: Perhaps when you held your first child, nay, your only daughter, in your arms for the first time?

Brother Robby: Or the birth of your eldest son?

Little Scotty: Or the founding of Team Massive? [Team Massive is the exclusive, members-only society of muscular men. See Little Scotty to apply.]

Me: Or the day you walked your ONLY DAUGHTER down the aisle? Gave her away? Your ONLY DAUGHTER? The only time you will get to do that?

Motha!: It seems like dad isn't really getting a chance to get a word in here, guys.

The Boss: I'm having a hard time narrowing it down to just one.

Me: Which is why I'm giving you options! Birth of first child........? Walking your only daughter down the aisle.....?

Husband: It must have been the day I came into your life.

The Boss: You? Maybe your iPhone.

Da Boss

2007-10-18T18:13:00.000-05:00

This weekend is Birthday Weekend de Boss.

[Little Scotty likes to use descriptors en Espanol. He taught me that noun de adjective/descriptive noun is a much cooler way to name something. Like, the Hobbit Hole, for example. Much cooler to say Hobbit Hole de Sister than 'my sister's apartment.']

Birthday Weekend de Boss will be a festivus previously unknown to mankind. They'll be writing poetry proclaiming its glory for centuries to come. I'm imagining fireworks and a high school band.

Just wanted to let you know what was going on, if and when you feel the shift in the cosmos that is bound to occur.

the most pathetic end to a phone conversation ever and you should know we were laughing the entire time

2007-10-16T15:10:00.000-05:00

"Ok, I'm going to go to Panera and grade papers, so I'll talk to you later."

"Ok, bye."

"Ummmmm...... I LOVE YOU."

"You, too."

"Babe, you never say 'I love you' when we hang up anymore."

"Yes, I do."

"Well, not all the time."

"Sorry."

"Ok, well, I'll talk to you later."

"Ok. Bye."

"BABE. THAT WAS A TEST! YOU DIDN'T SAY IT AGAIN!"

"What?"

"I was testing you and you still didn't say it."

"You were what? I'm a man. You have to hit me over the head with it."

"Ok, fine. THIS IS A TEST. I'll talk to you later........"

"Ok. I LOVE YOU. Bye."

"Good job."

"Thanks."

"Now we're hanging up for real. Call me when you're coming home from work."

"Ok. Bye."

"BABE!"

"Kidding. Love you."

"You, too."

remove foot from mouth

2007-10-15T14:58:00.000-05:00

The Boss was visiting on Thursday, and he and Brother Robby came over to eat cake with Husband and I. Anytime either The Boss or Motha! comes to visit, the other one gets a little jealous of the face time with the kids. We don't get to all be together nearly enough, and any time spent with each other is highly coveted. Motha! is always telling me about how she brags to The Boss whenever she sees us, and The Boss likes to whine about how he is always left out of the loop.

So we're all hanging out, eating cake, and Motha! calls. I immediately know that we're all in trouble. We had been hanging out for a good 15 minutes without calling Motha! to let her in on the fun. This is just not done. Motha! must be included. After telling Motha! all our favorite parts of the past 15 minutes, The Boss promised to call back. Brother Robby and I were laughing about how The Boss would be able to hold this over her head for at least a week.

Only, Husband doesn't quite understand how this whole system works. He couldn't figure out why we were saying Motha! would be so "upset."

"I mean, I really think you (The Boss) have a lot more to complain about than she does. You're just here for this one night. When she comes, she stays for DAYS."

Oops.

look what Husband made!

2007-10-11T15:48:00.000-05:00

Not only is it a double fudge cake, but it has CHEESCAKE BITES inside.

And I would just like to rub it in by telling you that he had a piece cut and on the plate for me when I came home from class Wednesday night.

a quote for The Boss

2007-10-10T09:00:00.000-05:00

While revising my art paper, I listened to the Republican debate, which Husband had on in the background. This little zinger from Mitt Romney had to be posted to the blog immediately, just for the The Boss.

"You know, I've gotten to know these guys over these debates. This is, what? Our 6th? 7th? But its a bit like Law & Order, isn't it Senator? There's a huge cast, it goes on forever, and Fred Thompson shows up at the end."

And somewhere, a young Romney staffer just got a raise.

amended

2007-10-09T09:21:00.001-05:00

Brother Robby pointed out something quite revealing regarding the previous post.

"What you did leave out, however, is that The Boss is exempt from any and all Favorite Part conversations, except of course to mock and cause discord in any and all Favorite Part Dialouge."

Its true. The Boss is the one person who can manipulate the rules of Favorite Part. Maybe that's where Husband gets his disobedient ways?

Favorite Part

2007-10-08T19:01:00.000-05:00

In my family, we have a game. Its called Favorite Part.

All our lives, Motha! would end any family event or get together by asking all of us, "what was your favorite part?" When we came home from a trip, we knew to prepare our Favorite Parts. When we participated in an activity at school, we quickly determined a Favorite Part. Family vacation? Favorite Part increased to a daily activity. Sometimes more than once a day. We'd get back from a meal or even a movie, and there would be the question. "What was your favorite part?" was the anthem of my adolescence.

When I married Husband, we quickly indoctrinated him into the rules of Favorite Part. When we were dating and would go home for a weekend, he'd have to tell his Favorite Part by Sunday afternoon. It was like training camp. I had to teach Husband that part of Favorite Part is that you always reciprocate the question. When someone asks you your Favorite Part, you must also ask for theirs. Sometimes Husband forgets this precept and I am forced to sit in silence until he remembers. He seems to love torturing me by "forgetting" how Favorite Part works.

Throughout our marriage, Husband and I have always laughingly asked one another for our Favorite Part, and it always leads to a good discussion of whatever we've just finished doing. [That Motha! knows her stuff.] Last night on the way home from the airport, I couldn't wait to hear his take on our trip to New York.

"So babe, what was your favorite part?"

"Ummmm.... seeing Kim and Mike."

"That cannot be a favorite part. Its not a specific moment or activity. You know the rules of Favorite Part. You must specify a particular moment or event for your favorite part. For example, you could say that playing Wii with Kim was your favorite part. Do you see the difference?"

"There is no difference. While playing Wii with Kim, I was seeing Kim. Its the same thing. You're arguing semantics."

"There IS a difference. Seeing Kim and Mike is not a part. We were doing that the whole time. It was the very purpose of our trip. The purpose of a trip cannot be a favorite part."

"You can't tell me my favorite part. You can't fit my favorite part into your mold."

"Those are the rules of Favorite Part. I didn't make them. I just enforce them."

traveling to new york, by the numbers

2007-10-05T21:06:00.001-05:00

1.5
number of hours our flight out of Oklahoma City was delayed [it was supposed to leave at 6:30 am, BY THE WAY]

4
number of hours we had already been awake by the time our flight left Oklahoma City [AT 8:00 AM]

10
total number of hours spent traveling after being re-routed from Memphis to Detroit and finally into Newark

5
number of states we saw in one day [Oklahoma, Tennessee, Michigan, New Jersey, New York]

0
number of calories consumed between 4:00 am and 5:30 pm [no time for eating when you are running to catch planes]

1
number of bags lost by airline, who decided to send my bag from OKC to Memphis to Detroit to Newark

14
number of hours after arriving in Newark that my bag reached me

1
number of waterbottles purchased immediately after arriving in Newark, dehydrated and nauseated

2
number of times I had to ask Mike to stop the car on the way home [their new car is pretty and didn't need any "decoration" from me]

at least 5
number of times I "decorated" Mike's parents' driveway as we were pulling up to the house

[Yeah, Thursday was a bit rough for me. That was definitely the single worst flying experience of my life. Luckily, today was much better than yesterday. Today, we went to Manhattan! Yay! It was Husband's first time, and I made him take all the obligatory New York pictures, which he LOVED, of course!]

she gets me

2007-10-03T15:31:00.000-05:00

I've been a little stressed the past few days. I suddenly have a ton of stuff on my plate. I'm excited about everything that I'm dealing with, but its becoming a bit..... burdensome.

My friend, Liz, stopped by my office today for the usual small talk before she had to teach. I think she could tell I was on my way to losing it.

"Are you ok?"

"Well, yeah. I just have a lot to do and I'm leaving in the morning and won't be back until Sunday night and I don't know when I'm going to get all this reading done and..." [I'll just stop there and spare you the rest of the drama]

"I'm sorry."

"Oh, its ok. I'll just sit here and obsess. You know me. I obsess."

"Well, at least you have a hobby."

you can't make this stuff up

2007-10-02T09:19:00.000-05:00

I often babysit for my friend, Ellen. Her three-year-old son, Ben, is the most hilarious kid. Last week, I watched Ben while Ellen and her husband went for an ultrasound. While there, they found out that they are expecting a second baby boy. Hooray!

I asked Ellen this morning if Ben understands the whole "new baby" thing. She said that he doesn't talk much about it, but every once in a while he will say "baby" or "brother."

"However," she said, "he did have an answer when we asked him what we should call his new brother."

"Yeah? What did he say?"

"Dot org."

the only appropriate thing to write about on this day

2007-10-01T09:36:00.000-05:00

Welcome, October! Its good to see you. I wish you were bringing a little more cold weather [85 degrees?! in October?!], but all in all its nice to have you back.

You should know, October, that you belong exclusively to The Boss. You, October, are The Boss's* birthday month.

[Yes, you read that correctly. Others get a birthday weekend. Some only get a birthday. The Boss gets a birthday month. The world is as it should be.]

[Because, let's face it, when you pay for a wedding, you deserve a daily foot massage.]

In fact, The Boss is the original owner of birthday privileges. He taught us what it means to be the birthday boy. During the month of October, he does not go a second without a Diet Dr. Pepper in his hand. He is the prince of October. While it may seem like toil to cater to someone's every whim during their birthday month, the efforts of The Boss in teaching us all about the birthday month allowed the rest of us to act like royalty in our own respective birthday months. See? He's just making sure he teaches us those valuable life lessons. For one month out of every year, I got to boss around my brothers and not feel bad about it. And I am forever thankful for that.

So, pull up a chair, October. It's going to be a great month, a celebration of The Boss.

Happy Birthday month, Dad!

*Lest anyone try to argue with me over the dilemma of Boss' versus Boss's, I LOOKED IT UP. I am right. Deal.

his big debut

2007-09-27T08:59:00.000-05:00

excerpts from a recent email...

Sis:
I have decided that my feelings are hurt.
There is Husband. There is Motha. There is Brother Robby. There is Little Scotty.
Then there is “chopped liver”.....me..... no nickname, no fond memories, no nothing.
Readers think your Dad died when you were 4 years old.

[Sniff]
Dad

Welcome to the show, Boss!

one of my favorite things

2007-09-26T14:49:00.000-05:00

I love going to the movies. A lot. I love going with friends, with my mom, with my entire family, and I especially love movie dates. I love the whole process of a movie date: dressing up in something a little more fun that work clothes, going to eat together, going to the theatre, getting something sweet [because Husband has turned me into a sweet tooth-- seriously, I can't go any meal without dessert anymore], sitting in the theatre, talking and savoring the anticipation, watching the previews [I LOVE previews. Husband hates them.], and finally, enjoying that exciting moment when the movie begins. I usually commemorate that moment by giving a little squeal and squeezing Husband's arm. He loves that.

There is a small problem in this beautiful scene. Husband isn't always so keen on the movie date. Why, you might ask? What man would not want to take his lovely wife to the movies? Well, understandably, if Husband doesn't want to see that particular movie, he just isn't interested. Which leads us to a key difference between Husband and myself. I love going to the movies so much that I will go to any movie. The atmosphere of the cinema makes up for any horrible movie that I may get talked into seeing. I will go see the action movies, the weird political thrillers, the psychological dramas, whatever. Husband is not so much the same way. He won't go to just any movie. If he doesn't want to see it, he's not going.

Now, this isn't really a problem. Don't cry for me. I discovered this about Husband while we were dating, and I decided that I would have to go to a lot of movies with other people when he didn't want to go. A "pick your battles" situation, you know? So, I go to chick flicks with my mom. I go to fun silly movies with Little Scotty [we actually have quite a lot of fun on our "dates"]. I go to existential out of the box movies with my friends. And when Husband wants to see a movie, I get really excited because I get to go with him!

Which leads me to now. Now is OSCAR SEASON. All the good movies are about to start coming out. The movies the studios know are good enough for this time of year. The kind of movies that Husband likes. YAY! Brad Pitt is at the movies. Cate Blanchett is at the movies. HUSBAND AND I will be at the movies. TOGETHER!

[But I also really want to see The Jane Austen Book Club and you KNOW Husband will just give me a look when I ask him if he will go with me. Takers?]

couldn't keep this to myself

2007-09-25T09:19:00.000-05:00

I saw this on msn.com and couldn't resist sharing.

Apparently, the current Miss USA, Rachel Smith, has been discussing her plans for the future with reporters. Those Miss USA gals always do have bright futures, don't they? Last year's Miss USA went into rehab and is now starring on a reality television show that follows the lives of pageant girls living in a house together. The drama! The catfights! The hair pulling!

But this new Miss USA is not like the others. She has SERIOUS plans for her life. Quoth she:
“I always wanted to be a reporter — maybe some TV. Who knows? Some serious news — but some modeling, too.”
Hmmmmm. I'm trying to think of someone else who has successfully combined serious news with modeling. Last time I checked, Brian Williams passed on that Gucci handbag campaign.

While Rachel Smith cannot give an example of someone whose career she would like to emulate, she does have a definite example of someone she DOES NOT want to follow:
“I just don’t want to end up like Katie Couric. I want people to take me seriously.”

Somewhere a fairy just died.

But don't cry for Rachel. I'm sure she will get that modeling wish. She's a lovely gal. Someone just needs to tell her that if you want to be in news, you actually have to WATCH the news. Which she obviously doesn't, since she thinks Katie Couric is dancing on a table in Vegas somewhere.

somewhat diminishing the joy of the weekend

2007-09-24T16:05:00.000-05:00

There has been a fly in my apartment for 3 days. A fly. In the Hobbit Hole. For 3. Straight. Days.

The cozy atmosphere of this little abode is somewhat disturbed by an extra inhabitant. There is barely enough space for me, Husband, and Husband's clothes. There is a reason we do not have an animal. THERE IS NO ROOM. If we wanted a pet, there would be a precious puppy living with us. I DID NOT SIGN UP FOR A PET FLY.

It's difficult to be productive when there is a fly in the house. It's hard to study when a fly is zipping around your head. I keep getting up from my art notes to attempt to kill the fly, but it is a FAST little bugger. Sometimes I only feel the breeze when it flies by my head. I don't even see it.

And let me tell you how much fun it is to cook when there is a fly around. Everything has to have a lid at all times. You can't pour a drink unless you can drink it all IMMEDIATELY before the fly attacks.

I hoped that cleaning the bathroom would somehow smoke out the fly. Maybe the chemicals would kill the fly and I would find it dead on the floor, a victim of Scrubbing Bubbles. But no such luck.

I am sick of the fly. And yet I am incapable of killing the fly.

Some PLEASE come and kill this fly.

manly men

2007-09-23T14:55:00.000-05:00

So I'm in the car with Husband and Brother Robby after church today. I'm trying to subtly pawn Husband off on Brother Robby so they can watch football together and leave me in peace. If I have to clean the bathroom, finish Brother Robby's laundry, and study for an exam, I at least want to have So You Think You Can Dance on in the background.

Me: "So, are you guys going to watch football on the big tv today?"

Husband: "Uhhhh.... I don't know."

Brother Robby: "I don't know."

Me: "Really? Isn't it Sunday? Aren't there lots and lots of games on? Isn't there an XBox 360 to be played?"

BR: "Well, that's kind of the problem."

H: "We have an XBox problem."

Me: "really?"
[somewhat unsuccessfully suppressing a laugh, and not just a giggle, but a deep belly laugh at the drama of an XBox problem]

BR: "He broke it."

Me: "YOU BROKE IT?! DO YOU KNOW HOW EXPENSIVE THOSE THINGS ARE?!"

H: [long narrative about the specific issues with the XBox that was too long and too boring to me to even remember]

BR: "But don't worry, we'll fix it, won't we? Just come over. Bring your tools."

H: "If by tools you mean the cell phone to call the 800 number for technical support, I'll be there in a bit."

confession

2007-09-20T13:52:00.000-05:00

Husband and I have a secret. We are closet fans of some trashy reality TV shows. A while ago, we were home together one day and somehow ended up watching several hours of MTV's show Laguna Beach. Brother Robby admitted long ago to being a fan of this little gem, but we had never seen it. Its one of those shows that follows the lives of rich high-school students in California who drive BMWs and say stupid things on camera. We happened to randomly catch a marathon of an entire season that day, and we were HOOKED. We had to keep watching because we HAD to know what would happen to those kids. We HAD to know if Kristin would end up going to prom with Steven. Suddenly, these were the burning questions that had to be answered.

Now, Laguna Beach is over, but we found its spin off called The Hills. Its one thing to watch reruns of these kind of shows, but we are so pathetic that we actually watch The Hills when its actually on. We actually get excited on Mondays, which we refer to as "trash tv night." The hook with these shows is that they make you really care about some characters and REALLY HATE other characters. Then you have to keep watching to make sure things go well for the people you love and things go VERY POORLY for the people you hate. The Hills introduced one of the best reality tv villains ever: SPENCER. I hate him. I feel physical revulsion for this kid. If I saw him in real life, I would give him a swift kick to the shin.

However, it gets worse.

Laguna Beach has created another spin off called Newport Harbor. I know, sounds like a soap opera, right? I saw some commercials for it, and I felt a little snobbery about it. Please, Newport Harbor? That's the kind of show where people steal other people's babies and Carly gets in a car crash and loses her memory and thinks she's in love with her uncle and then you find out HER UNCLE IS REALLY HER FATHER. It is SO not a classy show like The Hills. I would never stoop that low.

So, naturally, one day I'm home on my day off, and what's on? Newport Harbor. And I watch it. And I get hooked. I kept watching. And watching. I HAD to know if Chrissy and Clay would go to prom together. When Husband came home, I quickly changed the channel, hoping to hide my shame from him. But then I felt like an idiot because I was JUST about to find out if Clay asked Chrissy to prom when he walked in. So I confessed.

"Ok, I'm really ashamed about this, but you know that new show Newport Harbor?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I may have been really bored and there was nothing on and I already had all my work done... and I may have watched it."

"You watched that show?!"

"YES! I did. I watched it. But I couldn't help it. I love Chrissy. I want her to be with Clay, but that other dumb blonde girl keeps getting in the way. What if he doesn't ask her to prom?"

"He does."

"WHAT?!"

"He does. He asks her."

"HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT?!"

"I may have watched it one night when you were at night class."

So, its official. We are LAME. But at least we are lame together.

just like the commercial

2007-09-18T16:23:00.001-05:00

"So, what are we doing tonight?"

"I don't know."

"Going to Brother Robby's to play X Box all night?"

"NO. NO NO NO NO NO. Absolutely not."

"Babe, if you don't want me to go, just say so. Say the word and I won't go."

"DON'T GO. You always leave me for him. Spend time with me, YOUR WIFE. YOUR WIFE WHO LOVES YOU. Honor and cherish, remember? Spend your nights on the couch with me. At home."

"I'll interpret your silence to mean that you are ok with me going."

a late afternoon phone call

2007-09-17T14:13:00.000-05:00

"Babe, after you left this morning, I saw that you left your wedding rings on the dresser. Did you decide not to be married to me today?"

"Babe! That's horrible! Of course I am married to you today! It was an accident. You KNOW how early it is when I have to leave! Its practically still dark outside. Besides, you didn't get up and make me coffee this morning, so, in a way, this could be considered your fault."

"Well, it doesn't matter because I left my wedding ring right next to yours so you would see it when you got home. If you don't want to be married to me, I don't want to be married to you, either."

"BABE! WHAT?!"

"Just kidding!"

"That is HORRIBLE. You know it was an accident. I can't believe you would do that to me."

"Babe, I DIDN'T DO THAT TO YOU. IT WAS A JOKE."

"Oh. OK."

"But when you write about this on your blog, you should say that I really did it. For effect."

dollar night

2007-09-15T10:43:00.001-05:00

On Thursday, Penny and I went to the opening night of the State Fair. We chose that night because admission was only $1. We had no idea how easily we would get our dollar's worth.

Within the first five minutes, we heard a drunk man singing "Honkey-Tonk Badonkadonk" [how do you spell that, anyway?] at the karoake tent. For the uninformed, I believe this little ditty refers to a country gal with a generous helping of junk in the trunk. If we had any doubts about the song's meaning, they were laid to rest by said drunken man's dance, which consisted solely of shaking his own trunk all over the stage to the point of stumbling. While we were partaking in this little delight, a creepy-looking guy walked up and handed us business cards offering private massages. All together now, EWWWWWWWWWWW.

Next, we got our cuteness fix in two ways: PIG RACING and FRISBEE-CATCHING DOGS. The pig races were the cutest thing I have ever seen. They even had a little baby pot-bellied pig who swam in this little trough. Apparently, these people travel all over the country with their pigs IN THEIR TRAILER WITH THEM. sounds a bit messy to me. The frisbee-catching dogs were equally cute, and freakishly skilled. They were jumping all over their trainer and flinging themselves across the room to catch the frisbees. The best part is that they were all shelter dogs. It was quite heart-warming.

Moving on from the cuteness, as we were making our food rounds we found ourselves back in the karaoke tent just in time to see a 300 pound man RAP "Genie in a Bottle." His rap was complete with "I'm a fat man in a bottle, gotta rub me the right way" and a visual presentation of such an action. I thought Penny was going to choke on her apple dumpling.

So far, its totally been worth the dollar, right?

The most amazing part of the night occured just as we were about to leave. In fact, WE ALMOST MISSED IT because we almost left before this happened. Somehow, in the middle of the most conservative state in the most conservative region of this country, THE VILLAGE PEOPLE were in concert. We experienced six aging gay men in full costume [all characters were accounted for] doing hip thrusts all over the Toyota stage. We were doubtful about the validity of these Village People, but a drunk, homeless woman reassured Penny that these were, indeed, the real Village People. She has their record from '72 with all their pictures. She GREW UP with the Village People and those are totally the real Village People.

We knew it was time to leave the fair when we realized that the Indian of the Village People was wearing chaps with nothing under them and a strategically-placed fringe was all that stood between us and a view we did not bargain for. We didn't want to have to ask for our dollar back.

why they shouldn't assign me early classes EVER AGAIN

2007-09-12T14:09:00.000-05:00

I lost my car today.

Instead of paying a ridiculous amount of money for a campus parking permit, I park at the basketball arena and ride a shuttle. However, so do a few thousand other people. That's a lot of cars.

This semester I teach at 8:30 in the morning. The system at the basketball arena requires a certain amount of finesse, especially that early in the morning. You see, buses are supposed to run every 5 minutes. You're lucky to get one every ten. If you come at the wrong time, the line will be so long that you won't even get on the first bus that arrives. You have to plan meticulously, experiment a few times at the beginning of the semester, then leave at EXACTLY the same minute every morning to make the trip go smoothly. I know, for example, that I must leave my house between 7:43 and 7:46 am to arrive at the arena at 7:52 to get in line to catch the bus that comes between 7:56 and 7:58 (on a good day). It is a SCIENCE. And usually, I rule at it.

The problem is that I am still half-asleep in a zombie-like state between 7:43 and 7:46 in the morning. Sometimes I have not even had coffee yet because I pour it right before I leave and its still too hot to drink without removing the top layer of my tongue. Me minus coffee is a sad picture. I'm hardly fit to drive.

This morning was no exception. I was armed with coffee but had yet to drink it. I slept through my alarm this morning and had only jumped out of bed around 7:25. I barely remembered to brush my teeth. Next thing I knew, I was sitting on the bus on the way to school.

You can imagine that when I got off the bus this afternoon, I had zero recollection of parking my car this morning. Makes finding the vehicle a BIT difficult. I wandered aimlessly up the aisle I usually park on, assuming that eventually Joey the Honda would come into view. Strange. No Honda in sight. I must have looked confused because another girl walking down the lot helpfully offered this gem of advice: "When I can't find mine, it usually means I'm parked further out than I think.

Right.

I literally walked around that lot for the next 5 minutes with panic creeping up my esophagus. Did I lose my car? Where did I park? OH MY WORD, SOMEONE STOLE MY CAR.

Or it could be right over there. At the front of the lot. I must have walked by it at least 3 times.

Husband's encouraging response to this horrible thing that happened to me? "Why didn't you just keep pushing the Lock button so the car would make that beeping noise?"

Ummmm... because that would have made logical sense. Duh.

gimme more..... or don't

2007-09-10T16:37:00.000-05:00

Dear Britney Spears,

I think I speak for the entire world when I say, STAY AT HOME WITH YOUR CHILDREN.

I was one of a few people who watched your big performance hoping that you would succeed. Others may have only tuned in to mock you or laugh at your downfall, but I sincerely hoped that you would appear, boa in your arms, and rock us back to 2003 (the last time you were awesome).

I was wrong. So wrong.

If you are going to make a comeback, at least SING FOR REAL. The back up track was so horrendously obvious. You've lost your talent to make us wonder if you are really singing.

If you are going to make a comeback, GET YOUR HAIR PROFESSIONALLY DONE. That was the most horrible weave I have ever seen. Beyonce was mocking you from the audience.

If you are going to make a comeback, WEAR FIGURE-FLATTERING CLOTHING. The bedazzled bra and panties combo was physically painful for even your most loyal fan.

I think we will all be better off if you just stay home and restrict your singing and dancing to watching Barney videos with Sean Preston and Jayden James.

a model of sensitivity

2007-09-07T22:37:00.001-05:00

"We need to invite them over to watch the Video Music Awards on Sunday. We watched it together last year. Its a tradition!"

"I do NOT want to watch those."

"I do! Britney Spears is making her comeback performance!"

"She better have worked out A LOT lately."

what I accomplished today

2007-09-06T18:38:00.000-05:00

- drank two cups of coffee

-watched Regis and Kelly, where Regis talked about how he was going on The View and Kelly made inappropriate comments about tennis grunts

-watched The View, where I am liking Whoopi more and more, and Joy was mean to Regis

-talked to Motha! about Harry Potter

-ate some chips

-commented on all my students' drafts (yes!)

-cleaned up the Hobbit Hole

-did a load of towels

-ate leftovers

-went to the bank

-did some field research on the new Maggie Moos that just went in down the street (everything's fine, swear)

-ate a banana

-copied art history notes

-ate a granola bar

How did I do so much eating in such a short period of time?

my new-found love

2007-09-05T22:39:00.000-05:00

The US Open is taking over life as we know it.

I was never a watcher of tennis until I married Husband. He comes from a family that likes to watch both tennis and golf [and football] [and basketball], so I ended up watching a lot more of those first two sports than I ever had before. I mean, when its your own family, you can just say that you would rather hit yourself repeatedly over the head with a nine iron than watch golf, but with your in-laws? Not so much. [If they read this, they will tell me to just tell them I don't like watching golf (they are good people like that). Still, they like watching golf, and who am I to ask them to change the channel in their own living room?]

HOWEVER, tennis is another story. I took a few tennis lessons in my day, and Brother Robby is a mad tennis player, but I never had much interest until now. I have to admit that I love watching tennis. We were in Paris during the French Open, and we even went down to Roland Garros [see how I threw that name of the stadium in there? Yeah, I know some stuff] to try to get tickets. I knew my affection for tennis was real when I was willing to brave a shady part of Paris and walk past lots of scary ticket scalpers surrounded by even scarier police officers ready to arrest any scalped ticket buyers. Alas, we couldn't get any tickets. But I braved the creepy and that means love!

So, the US Open is going on right now, and Husband has been staying up until strange hours watching it. Sleep generally trumps any and all other activities for me (save one), so I have been missing most of the late night tennis action. Still, if you see Husband, be sure to remind him that his tennis boyfriend, Rafael Nadal, lost in the last round, while my tennis boyfriend, Roger Federer, is about to beat Andy Roddick in the quarter-finals!

the fruit bowl

2007-09-04T16:28:00.000-05:00

We're pretty healthy at our house. We try to eat well, and Husband does his fair share of exercising [I honestly cannot include myself in the exercise category]. Husband loves to snack, usually on cookies, but he has been really good lately about eating fruit.

I keep the fruit in this blue bowl-like object on top of our fridge. In our little apartment, which I long ago christened The Hobbit Hole, we don't so much have lots of storage. The kitchen is packed rather efficiently, if I do say so myself. Everything has a place, and somehow it manages to all fit. I MAY be a bit of a control freak, but I hate chaos. I need organization. I need a place for everything and everything in its place.

Then, Husband decided he wanted a fruit bowl.

The problem, apparently, is that Husband forgets that we have fruit in the blue thing above the fridge BECAUSE HE CANNOT SEE IT. That's right. Because he cannot look directly at the blue thing without serious effort, he forgets about the fruit. [Which kind of makes me hope he does not forget other things when he is not looking directly at them. Like my face.] So, Husband decided he wants a VISIBLE fruit bowl. And by visible, he means in the very center of the kitchen table.

The problem is that the fruit bowl, when visible, is often empty because he who sees the fruit, consumes the fruit. At an astounding rate. So, 95% of the time, there is an empty bowl in the middle of my kitchen table. A LARGE. EMPTY. BOWL. Because I cannot buy fruit fast enough to replace the fruit that he devours.

Nothing gets on my nerves like a purposeless, fruitless bowl.

Piles

2007-08-30T16:43:00.000-05:00

Husband has a piling problem.

It all started when we were dating. I noticed when I was in his apartment in college that his life revolved around his coffe table, on which was piled his computer, his books, his iPod, his headphones, his homework, his bag of chips, and various scraps of paper. Foolishly, I imagined that his piling was due to a lack of space in that tiny apartment. I mean, four men lived in that apartment. Four men with shoes and dress shirts and soccer cleats and baseball gloves and kayaks and dvds and XBoxes and other various MAN THINGS. No wonder he had to pile.

However, the piling was not, as I had imagined, a result of his living situation. When we got married and began cohabitation, he began piling on our kitchen table. The pile generally centers on his computer and its power cord. Similar to The College Pile, there are headphones and an iPod, and occasionally, chips. Now, however, there are Big People things like receipts and bills and junk mail and books about mutual funds. That's right, The Pile is expanding.

If only that were the worst of it.

Recently, Husband has developed a habit of territorial piling. He is piling in various locations, presumably because of a need to mark his space. The dresser in the bedroom has been Piled. Its covered in change and papers and dress shirt collar thingies. The coffee table has been Piled. The computer occasionally resides there, but it is currently piled with his Bible and various church-related papers. The end table has been piled. It is now the happy home of a notepad, a pen, and his iPod charging dock.

Do you see what I mean about the piles? The piles are consuming this apartment. Husband has a piling problem. I've started thinking of piles/piled/piling as a state of being. I'm piled. PILED.

I think I will open my class on Wednesday with this

2007-08-27T19:53:00.001-05:00

Happy Birthday, Motha!

2007-08-27T14:12:00.000-05:00

Today is Motha!'s birthday. Happy Birthday, Motha! In your honor, E! Entertainment Television is playing the E! True Hollywood Story of your idol, Goldie Hawn. I also think the stars aligned this weekend, when I watched Overboard, your favorite Goldie film, on TBS.

In honor of Motha!'s birthday, I present the Top Ten Motha! Moments.

10. Back to school shopping and lunch at The Garden

9. Making chore lists at the beginning of every summer

8. Watching Regis and Kelly

7. "5.95"

6. Making the bed at every new place where any of us kids moved

5. "You don't own me! YOUNG AND FREE, YOUNG AND FREE, YOUNG AND FREE! You don't own me!"

4. Watching Gone With the Wind every Thanksgiving

3. "I have nothing..... nothing..... NOTHING..... DOOOOON'T MAKE ME CLOOOOOOOOOOOSE one more door"

2. Wedding dress shopping together

1. the Motha! daily phone message: "Hey honey, this is your Motha! Just calling to say that I love you and I am praying for you and Graige (!) and I hope you have a great day at school!"

Love you, Motha!

disruption

2007-08-23T15:41:00.000-05:00

This morning, our internet died. It died, and momentarily disrupted the peace of life as I know it. I was SO MAD at our internet for dying. I was on the warpath. I called the cable company. I whined. I roared. I demanded an explanation. I can't remember the last time I was that angry about something.

Seriously, what is up with that? It made me realize that I am ridiculously dependent on technology. When my cell phone died once, I was ready to kill someone. I suffer from a little disorder called Technology Entitlement. I feel ENTITLED to a cell phone that calls people. I feel ENTITLED to working, non-dead internet. When did that happen? I know there was a period in my life when I had neither cell phone nor internet, and I was happy as a lark. At what point did I turn into a raving lunatic that can't function without wireless internet?!

This little debacle reminded me of an old entry from Blog 1.0 about this very issue. Enjoy!

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Superficial Intimacy
August 29, 2006

I've been rather troubled lately that the only way I keep up with my friends is through the computer. It seems like such a superficial medium. I mean, I have all of your phone numbers, so why don't I ever call you? In that arena, at least I could hear your voice and picture your expressions in my head and recall a time when we actually met face to face. So, why is it that we only communicate online?

Its not only the lack of human contact that disturbs me. For the most part, modern friendships are based on stalking. We all have webpages, blogs, mySpaces, Facebook pages, etc. where we post information about ourselves as if we are rockstars with fan clubs dying to stay posted on our every whim. And its true! Because any time I get a free moment on the computer, I'm reading your Xanga, I'm posing on your Facebook wall, I'm looking at the photos you've uploaded. I am STALKING you. And its disturbing. We all do it. We treat our friends like they are our fan club members. And we stalk our friends as if we cannot call them up or go to dinner with them when we want to know what is going on in their lives.

Many of us do not even email anymore. Oh no, that would be too personal, too "I care enough about you to spend a few minutes writing a message for your eyes only." Email has become obsolete in the era of message boards. We communicate with our friends by leaving comments on their blogs. These messages become really an advertisement or extension of ourselves because we know that everyone else will be reading our personal correspondence. Look at me! Look at what a clever person I am! I have something HILARIOUS to say to my friend and you are so lucky as to experience it as if it were addressed to you personally! We use these forums to proclaim to the universe our opinions (I really can't believe she said that about me), our status (yeah, we broke up, but I'm really ready to move on), and our comings and goings (we're all headed to the union, you should come). Its like we are all our own publicists. Anything that I want the world to know about me, I can post on a friend's blog. Or my own.

Certainly, there is an incredible usefulness to these kinds of sites. My friend Summer (hi Summer!) is in grad school in Boston, and I love reading her blog to catch up on her life. However, that should not stop me from calling her. Or visiting her. And I think I will.

Call your friends today. Take them to lunch. Then you can post pictures of it on Facebook and we will all enjoy.

afternoon break

2007-08-22T14:53:00.000-05:00

On Wednesdays, I have a few hours to kill between teaching/art class in the morning and my graduate course at night. The break is long enough that I came home to eat something and wait.

The problem with being home in the middle of the day is that you are a prime victim for bad teen movies and reruns of trashy reality tv. Yesterday, I indulged in some America's Next Top Model and fell asleep to A Cinderella Story with Hilary Duff and Chad Michael Murray. [I know, right? I am ashamed to even admit that I know the name of that movie and the names of its stars. No self-respecting adult would admit to having watched a Hilary Duff movie, even if just to induce a nap.]

Today, I am catching up on my Top Chef reruns. I am a SUCKER for reality television, but any that involve fashion or cooking especially captivate me. I absolutely love the melodrama involved in Top Chef. "Sandy, we're going to have to send you home because we asked you to make a barbeque dish, and your dish was braised the night before, which obviously [OBVIOUSLY!] isn't barbeque." Dramatic Pause. Low Rumblings of Dramatic Music. "Please pack your knives and go."

What I want to know is who gets to sit around and come up with the "goodbye phrase" for these reality shows? As goodbye phrases go, "please pack your knives and go" is one of the greats. However, doesn't it make you wonder what was on the reject list?

"Turn off your burners. You will sautee no more."
"We're spitting you, and your food, out of our mouths."
"Please wash your pans, dry them, and put them away. You've been demoted to dishwasher."

Right? WHO COMES UP WITH THIS STUFF?

This is what happens when they let me go home in the middle of the day.

lazy bum

2007-08-21T14:31:00.001-05:00

I am, at this very moment, enjoying the first of my two days off every week. On Tuesdays and Thursdays this semester, I have NOTHING to do. In about a week, that will change to I HAVE TO GET ALL THIS READING DONE, but for now, it means I am drinking coffee, watching Regis and Kelly, and picking up Husband's pants at the cleaners. Which I should have done about ... oh ... last Friday. Husband likes to point out that, as a student and non-commuter-of-the-soul-destroying-commute, my schedule is much more flexible than his and I should, TECHNICALLY, find the time to do mundane things like fetch pants from the cleaners. Like, what I am doing all day? Just sitting around all day, napping, watching tv, and eating chips?

Ok, the chips part might not be so far off. Or the napping bit.

However, I would like to point out what I DID accomplish today, namely, brushing my teeth, getting dressed, and taking out the trash.

See? I am being WAY productive with these days off.

But I still love you, and here are your pants.

first day of school

2007-08-20T15:58:00.000-05:00

Today was the first day of school. I fell out of bed at 6:30 this morning. 6:30 am. BOO. There's not much that even coffee can do at 6:30 in the morning. Luckily, Husband made me some coffee anyway, but only after telling me that the only reason he was out of bed was because I was being loud. Loud? I'll show you loud. Don't challenge me at 6:30 am when I am not yet caffeinated.

My students at 8:30 wore blank stares and bed head. I felt like I was talking to life-size cardboard cut outs. My friend, Katie, suggested that I use a spray bottle in their faces like you would with a disobedient cat. I find the analogy rather compelling. 10:30 was a better situation; at least those students looked alive. I think one of them even smiled.

After my 10:30 class, I knew I had to trudge all the way across campus to the art museum for my art history class. And when I say trudge, I literally mean drag my sad, sweaty self in the oppressive heat to a building I have never seen to find a classroom I have never been in. And then the building was locked.

LOCKED.

Did I mention it was hot outside? And the building was locked? AS IN, I COULD NOT ENTER THE AIR- CONDITIONED BUILDING AND WAS FORCED TO CIRCLE IT IN THE HEAT!?!

Just wanted to make sure I got that across.

All in all, between the sleepy cat students and the pit stains in my new shirt, it was a good first day of school.

breakfast for dinner

2007-08-19T21:41:00.000-05:00

Tonight, we were at a loss for dinner. Nothing sounded good. We drove home from church considering our fast-food options, but finally decided to go home. For sandwiches. You know there was nothing to eat when we were considering sandwiches.

Then, Husband had a brilliant idea: breakfast for dinner! It wasn't the first time in human history that someone had this idea. I remember Motha! making us breakfast for dinner when we were kids, and we thought it was the coolest, most rebellious thing EVER. Those Christians, they are CRAZY! Waffles?! AT NIGHT?! MADNESS!

However, there was a small kink to be worked out. Husband's idea of breakfast and my idea of breakfast are a bit different. Husband's idea of breakfast includes waffles; mine includes cheese scrambled eggs. Ironically, we are each the designated chef of the other's favorite. On the weekends, I make waffles if we decide on waffles, and he makes the eggs if we decide on eggs. After a momentary silence, Husband said, "I'll make you eggs...............and you can make me waffles!"

And that, folks, is why I married him.

MOTHA!

2007-08-16T13:42:00.000-05:00

Sorry I totally dropped the ball yesterday on posting. My mom, Motha! to you, is in town visiting before Brother Robby and I start classes on Monday. We spent the day watching that new Jane Austen movie, grocery shopping, and making the most fabulous salmon ever. It was really fun to cook for Motha! because she understands the pain of being young and married and afraid of accidentally starving or poisoning Husband due to sheer ignorance. We ate. She raved. It was a good night all around.

This morning we've already watched another Jane Austen movie (I know, right?) and now we're visiting campus so I can pick up some handouts and Brother Robby can buy books. Motha! has been giggling all day. She wants to go to the library and the Student Union. She wants to take pictures.

When we were kids, every year for the first day of school we had to take The Backpack Picture. The three of us had to pose in front of the fireplace with our backpacks in our first day of school outfits. Little Scotty is still subjected to this every year. Motha! showed me the pictures she took of him on his first day of school last week as he was getting in his car and DRIVING AWAY. He's half-way down the block and she's still snapping the pics. That's love, friends.

So, we're off now to tour the library and buy books. Then, I think, Motha! wants to clean Brother Robby's apartment "so it will be ready for school." He, understandably, is milking this for all its worth.

summer roundup

2007-08-14T16:33:00.001-05:00

days spent in Europe

$400

surprise cost of train tickets from Morley to London

number of coats Husband purchased in Paris-- in June

times I viewed Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix in theatres

days spent in St. Louis with Summer eating scones

2.5

times I read Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

number of Jane Austen novels I re-read this summer for about the 300th time

at least 3

weeks during which I almost died driving to work in near monsoon conditions

rides Little Scotty took me for in his Jeep, the Butch

times I have had a "last day" at this job, including today [no more commute! NO MORE. Did I mention I don't have to drive 45 minutes both ways every day ANY MORE?!]

victory in our time!

2007-08-09T11:53:00.000-05:00

Proof positive that Husband is finally starting to understand my childlike need for constant validation

Scene: the environment-saving Honda, speeding toward Husband's place of employment

While channel hopping, we hear a Keith Urban song on the radio [note: Keith Urban is married to Nicole Kidman, Husband's acknowledged celebrity crush].

Husband: "That Keith Urban married a fine-looking woman."

[beat]

[beat]

[raised eyebrow from me]

Husband: "ME TOO!!"

in which I digress

2007-08-08T14:13:00.000-05:00

Today marks the beginning of the countdown to the 2008 Summer Olympics in Beijing, China. HOORAY! I LOVE the Olympics in a traditionally girly way. I love the gymnasts and the figure skaters. I love to see them twist and fling their little bodies across various surfaces. Love it.

In fact, I love the Olympics so much that once my mom used my love against me. She once grounded me FROM THE OLYMPICS. That's right. I was grounded from the finals of the women's all around in gymnastics the year that Dominique Moceanu ended up winning gold (1996, I think). I don't know that I had ever been that upset in my young life. [Granted, I had not yet started driving and had my keys taken away from me for a month for a WARNING. Not a ticket, a warning. But I digress.]

[Actually, I digresss further. What kind of idiot tells their parents that they were pulled over and the policeman let them go with a warning? A VALIDATION-SEEKING, FIRST-BORN idiot, that's who. WHAT. A. MORON. Little Scotty, if you're reading this, don't tell mom and dad if you get a warning. I mean, I know you don't speed and you also don't talk bad about people and you drink enough "special water" that you don't even stink, but if the worst happens, DON'T TELL THEM. LEARN FROM MY MISTAKES. Slow yourself down and keep your keys.]

What was I even talking about?

Oh, Olympics. Yes. I love the Olympics. And mom, I'm sorry for whatever I did that made you ground me from them. And please don't hate me for the above.

where the grass is always greener

2007-08-07T14:56:00.000-05:00

Lately, I have been thinking about how ready I am to get back into school mode. Working a normal, 9 to 5 job only makes me appreciate the academic life in all its caffeinated, frantic splendor. I LOVE being in school, which is convenient considering I will be there for the next million years.

Still, graduate school has its moments. Terrifying, soul-destroying, claw-your-own-eyes-out (Oedipus-style) moments. While I'm not thinking about those moments right now, come back around October and you'll experience them first hand. So, in honor of graduate school angst, I give you the latest installment from Blog 1.0. Enjoy.

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It's That Time of Year...
November 15, 2006

...and I'm not talking about the holiday season. I'm referring to that point in the academic semester where students begin to slowly, painfully lose their minds. I'm starting to recognize the symptoms in my students. They are perpetually 3 to 5 minutes late to class. They don't have their homework. They are wearing last night's eyeliner. I'm thinking of instituting yoga as the first 10 minutes of every class.

I'm also recognizing the symptoms in myself and my fellow graduate students. The desperation is starting to stink. The graduate computer lab is full 24 hours a day as we print out articles and search for inspiration. The papers are piling up as we decide if tonight we want to stress about teaching or our own classes. I feel a pang of guilt even writing this instead of working on my paper or reading for class or responding to student's topic proposals.

My solution to all this pain? Domesticity.

Not kidding. My favorite activity of late is take off my Grad Student hat (and by "take off," I mean "snatch from my scalp in my vicious talons and fling mercilessly across the room, my only regret that it's not solid enough to make a satisfying thump when it strikes the wall") and joyfully adorn myself, ritualistically, with my Wife apron. Today, I baked cookies. I've never baked cookies before in my life. Still, I found myself armed with all my new fun baking gadgets (thank you, wedding showers!), television tuned to the Food Network, and elbow deep in butter and brown sugar. As they baked, I did laundry. I dusted my living room. I made a grocery list. I reveled in my alternative existence where Frederic Jameson can't hurt me and the rhetorical triangle doesn't matter nearly as much as my new Christmas tree.

My dear friend and fellow graduate school maven, Summer, informed me that the best medicine for grad school angst includes chick flicks and baked goods. Never has a wiser word been spoken. There must be something about reinscribing myself into the patriarchal system of Wifery that my studies force me to criticize that makes me feel better about the world. That's right, I'll say it. I love being married. I love keeping house. And I love cookies. And cupcakes with sprinkles.

I can put off my work no longer (which means I will shortly be going to bed, only to dream of discourse communities and flunking out of school). At least I have cookies.

Project I Know Nothing About This

2007-08-06T11:48:00.001-05:00

This weekend, I was reminded once again that Husband's personal style and taste in clothing are far superior to my own. Before we started dating, Husband scared me a little bit because he was so well-dressed and pretty. I almost thought of him as a celebrity that was unattainable-- people that pretty don't interact with people who only buy clothes once a year and consider a coffee cup a fashion accessory. Once we started dating, I would obsess for hours over what I should wear on our dates. [I know, me? Obsess about something?] I was very aware and a bit uncomfortable about being the less stylish person in our relationship.

Post wedding day, Husband became the fashion authority in my life. I always ask him about what I'm wearing. I think the most dreaded question in his life is "do these shoes go with this?". I bow to his opinion on all things sartorial.

At home with my familiy this weekend, Little Scotty showed me all of his new school clothes. For his first day of school debut, he asked me which shirt he should wear with his new navy and white striped shorts. Being the minimalist that I am, I automatically went for his solid white polo shirt. Gotta balance your stripes and solids, no? Too many stripes = bad. Except that Little Scotty really wanted to wear a new navy, royal blue, and white striped shirt. Alarm bells were going off in my head. STRIPES! STRIPES! TOO MANY STRIPES! FOR THE LOVE, ENOUGH WITH THE STRIPES.

Then, I realized. Coffee cups are my fashion accessories. Little Scotty is hip and cool and drives a Jeep.

So I deferred to Husband. Little Scotty presented his case. I presented mine. And, naturally, Husband told Little Scotty that the striped shirt was clearly the superior choice.

[REALLY?!?! STRIPES ON STRIPES?! CAN YOU DO THAT?!]

All of which reminds me that I should stick to old books and big words and let Husband make any and all fashion choices affecting me or my loved ones.

Husband, don't freak out when you read this

2007-08-02T13:40:00.000-05:00

I am currently experiencing a very dramatic baby/puppy/cute things in general phase. The slightest provocation of cuteness can set me off. I met a friend's puppy the other day and nearly swallowed its cuteness whole. I literally had to restrain myself from burying my face in its fur. In the same five minutes that I met the puppy, my friend's two year old niece plopped herself into my lap and handed me a picture book to read to her. People, there was a spontaneous combustion of cuteness. The cuteness threatened to mushroom cloud and cover us all in pink bows and candy sprinkles. I wanted to grab them both and run away to Mexico, where would we would laugh and roll and kiss and read picture books for the next 20 years.

Given my propensity to cuteness, I was completely taken in by the number of babies at Panera today during lunch. Apparently, Panera is Cute Baby Central. I wanted to gather all the cute babies on one of the couches and pinch their adorable arm fat one by one. Several of the cute babies were screaming and wailing, but it didn't really phase me. I could hear other diners complaining about the screaming and wailing over their soup and sandwiches, but I found myself mesmerized by the cuteness of the screaming and wailing. Like, what a cute little baby scream! That cute little baby just needs me to roll it around on the floor, smooshing its baby fat like pizza dough, then we'll run away to Mexico, laughing and rolling and kissing and reading picture books.

That's how you know that you are NOT ready to have children. Sane people just don't respond to screaming infants with pizza dough similies.

Lonesome Road

2007-08-01T10:48:00.001-05:00

This summer, Husband and I have been carpooling to work about 40 minutes from where we live. Husband works there year-round, and I am temporarily supplementing our income during the summer. [Again, WHY?! Why am I not allowed to lay on the couch all day?] About 4 of the 5 week days, we drive one car. I like to think of it as our personal attempt to save the environment. Cameron Diaz bought a Prius, Al Gore makes documentaries, and we carpool.

Sadly, my time in the far-away workforce is about to come to an end. [Or NOT sadly! HAHAHAHA!] I have mentioned how blessed I am to have my job, but the commute? The commute nearly destroys my soul each and every day. I now have a new-found appreciation for Husband, who makes this soul-destroying drive every day regardless of the season. Soon, I will be free to stay within 2 miles of my apartment, blissfully driving to and from campus and NOTHING MORE.

This morning, as we were saving the environment, I asked Husband how he would BEAR facing that drive every morning WITHOUT ME?! Obviously, I am the factor holding it all together. "Will you be sad?" I asked. "Will you sigh loudly every few minutes, thinking, 'if only my wife was here to ease my suffering. If only the radiance of her presence could expel the darkness facing me as I fling my vehicle recklessly down I-35' ?"

His response?

"I couldn't have said it any better myself."

Obviously.

bummer

2007-07-31T13:19:00.000-05:00

Its almost time for school to start. I feel like this summer has flown by me, like a celebrity sighting that I barely missed but would really have loved to experience. Jennifer Garner, maybe. Yeah, Jen Garner and her beautiful little daughter drive by in their Land Rover and I totally miss it because I'm changing the radio station because 102.7 is playing that ridiculous Sean Kingston song AGAIN and I just can't listen to it ANY MORE and, wait, was that Jennifer Garner?! Come back, Sydney Bristow! Teach me your moves! Where's Michael Vaughn!?

That's what this summer was like.

Birthday Weekend

2007-07-30T11:11:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was Husband's birthday. Happy Birthday, Husband! As such, this entire weekend was dubbed by Husband as "My Birthday Weekend." For three solid days, I lost all notion of personal sovereignty.

"Will you go to Panera and get me 2 Cinnamon Crunch bagels? Its My Birthday Weekend."

"Will you come with me to Brother Robby's while I play his XBox 360 for several hours? Its My Birthday Weekend."

"Will you go to the mall with me while I spend my giftcards? Its My Birthday Weekend." [As shopping is on my top 10 list of Things I'd Rather Eat Live Maggots Than Do, this one was especially hard to swallow.]

"Will you scratch my back? Its My Birthday Weekend."

To his credit, Husband never demanded anything. He asked very politely. He simply reminded me of the date. Every 30 seconds.

I should have known I had this coming. Growing up, we never had to do chores or even lift a finger on our birthdays. It was the one day of the year I could ask my brothers to wait on me hand and foot and they could not say no because, hello?! It was my birthday. I remember fondly the ridiculous requests I would come up with every December 28. While my mom was always willing to take care of us, even when it wasn't our birthday, I always made sure that Brother Robby or Little Scotty [who now, at 16, is much bigger than I am and doesn't really deserve that title] was the lucky person who got to rub my feet or watch a girly movie with me or ride a bike to the store to get me a candy bar.

So, if this is how Husband wants to play it, its ON. I have 23 years of experience on him. He better start training now because once its MY Birthday Weekend, he will be carrying me around all day. Like the Princess that I am.

whilst stuck in traffic

2007-07-26T12:25:00.000-05:00

"I've always wanted Harry and Hermoine to get together."

"Really? Why? I don't think that would work at all. They are like brother and sister. It would never work. Not ever"

"They would work better than Hermoine and Ron."

"Are you kidding? Did you READ the books? Rowling has been setting up Hermoine and Ron since Book 1, just dangling that in our faces. Making us wait. Using her powers for EVIL."

"Hermoine is too smart for Ron. That's why she should be with Harry."

"It doesn't work that way. They are too much alike. Hermoine and Ron work because Hermoine is all, 'arrrrrrrrrrgggggggghhhhhhhh!" and Ron is very mellow and laid back. "

[Silence.]

"Sounds like someone else I know."

"Yeah, I was kind of thinking that, too."

"Babe, I'm your Ron!"

When Husband has to Listen to My Inner Monologue

2007-07-25T13:13:00.001-05:00

"Do you need a sandwich for lunch today?"

"I'm tired of sandwiches. I'm sick of them. I know I need to pack my lunch because it costs a fortune to eat out five days a week, but I HATE sandwiches. I am TIRED of sandwiches. Why can't I think of anything else to pack other than a sandwich? I could pack a salad, or maybe some soup. Or maybe left-overs. Wait, Brother Robby ate all our would-be left-overs. Dang it! Why didn't I think to save something for lunch so I would not have to eat a SANDWICH? Do I have any of those 'free taco' things from Taco Bueno? I could get two free tacos and drink water. Would that fill me up? Is that incredibly lame to get food totally free? Should I spring for the $1.50 drink? Wait, that totally defeats the purpose. GEEZE. Why does it cost so much money just to EAT?! Isn't that like our basic human right? Shouldn't the Founding Fathers have mentioned something about how we should all get free tacos? What is the point in having CIVIL RIGHTS if they do not include the right to eat something OTHER THAN A SANDWICH?!?"

"So, do you need a sandwich for lunch today?"

"Fine."

For Whitney

2007-07-24T15:28:00.000-05:00

Have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don't search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.
Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

While I've had the first part of this quote on my blog for over a year, I recently discovered the next few sentences. I think this paragraph summarizes the last five to seven years of my life. Thankfully, even the last sentence is true. Sometimes you really do "live your way into the answer."

[Side note: I first discovered this small book when Sister Mary Clarence (Whoopi) recommends it to Rita Louise Watson (Lauryn Hill, ya'll!) as she struggles with the decision to abandon her high school choir because, in the words of her tightly-wound mama, "singing does not put food on the table--singing does not pay the bills" in the screen classic Sister Act 2: Back in the Habit. This little gem also boasts the best movie quote of all time, which Brother Robby and I like to use against one another: "Baby, SAVE IT for OPRAH!"]

by the numbers

2007-07-23T15:45:00.000-05:00

10.5
hours it took Summer and I to finish Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

31/32
positions of Summer and I in the line to get Harry Potter, which totaled at least 400

99%
my level of satisfaction with the novel and how it ended

>20
various people in airports or on planes who asked me if Harry died

8
number of large, delicious scones consumed by Summer and I

12?
number of times I laughed hysterically while reading the novel (who knew Ron was so funny?)

1
number of times Summer cried while reading the novel

5
number of hours slept between obtaining novel and finishing it

3
number of children belonging to the middle aged man in line behind us at midnight

0
number of words Husband spoke once I handed the novel off to him

In Honor of my (Brief) Return to Corporate America

2007-07-19T11:27:00.000-05:00

Like most graduate students, I scrambled to find gainful employment for the summer months. For some reason, Husband did not approve of my plan to watch endless reruns of America's Next Top Model and read all 6 Harry Potter novels in anticipation of Book 7. I mean, how is this a bad plan?

Luckily, I got a call from my former employer, where I worked during my undergraduate degree. In terms of summer work, that was like winning the lottery AND finding $20 on the sidewalk all in one day [because then you can buy a Mercedes AND some really good ice cream!]. I love this job. I love the people that I work with at this job.

One thing that I had obviously blocked out of my memory, to make room for more Jane Austen plotlines and celebrity gossip, I'm sure, was the tendency of higher-ups in the business world to be mean to "the help." I don't mind being "the help" that much anymore. I guess I'm used to it, and at my job, I am treated like an equal. My boss tells me to consider him my colleague rather than my boss. [See? My job is awesome. You can't have it.] So, I was a bit taken aback the first time I had dealings with a big shot at another company who felt he needed to put me in my place as "the help."

All of which brings me to one of my favorite rants from Blog 1.0. Apparently, people don't change!
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Marxism Rears Its Ugly Head
June 28, 2006

Although the last time I checked, it wasn't 1854, Americans still uphold very specific ideas about class consciousness, particularly in business. I am 22. I have a college degree and a fair modicum of intelligence. Yet, Mr. CEO of Large Corporation feels that he can behave VERY RUDELY toward me because I am merely Clerical Peon of Small Business. I go out of my way to demonstrate respect to those older than myself. However, I find it incredibly inappropriate for Mr. CEO to refuse to speak to me because I am simply Clerical Peon. Mr. CEO of Large Corporation only wants to deal with Mr. CEO of Small Business (my boss), not his CP. At which point, I asked if I was excluded from the throne room of grace because of my gender or my sinfulness.

Kidding. Sort of.

The irony of it all is that Mr. CEO's work is done by the CPs of the world. His meetings would not get scheduled, his emails would go unsent, and his coffee would certainly not materialize on his desk every morning were it not for his own CP. (And notice, I do not discriminate. CPs come in both genders.) So, why do I not merit the respect that my drudgery so clearly deserves? The very instance that occasioned Mr. CEO's rudeness was an act of service on my part that he had personally requested from Mr. CEO of Small Business, my boss (who, by the way, treats his own CPs in an appropriate manner). I was HELPING him, and it even happened to be something not entirely related to his business relationship with my boss. It was a personal matter that my boss had offered to take care of for him. And this is the thanks I get?!

Ahem. The lesson behind today's story? If you have a CP, treat him/her with respect. If you are a CP, know that you are not the only one getting crapped on. And if you feel tempted to put salt in CEO's coffee rather than sugar, I would not judge you.

Because the Kitchen Provides Endless Laughs at My Expense

2007-07-18T10:15:00.000-05:00

So, last night I invited Brother Robby over for dinner. Brother Robby is always good for a laugh, and he shovels food like a trash compacter, eliminating the need for Tupperwared leftovers that inevitably go bad in my fridge because Husband does not so much eat leftovers. Coincidentally, Brother Robby is also highly skilled at the art of "sister, this is so good!" and "sister, you are so pretty and talented!", which makes him an extraordinary dinner guest on nights when I'm trying something new.

As I'm in the midst of preparing the something new, I'm elbow deep in cilantro, garlic, red peppers, and various cooking paraphernalia. If you have to be elbow deep in something, I suppose good food and fabulous kitchen essentials you got for free at various wedding showers are a good option. However, my apartment kitchen has about two square feet of counter space, making food preparation, at times, a wee bit difficult. [Also, my apartment kitchen's air circulation is a bit nonexistent, so turning on even one burner requires that I change into a tank top and shorts to even stand in there.] So, I'm sweatily plugging along with my chopping and sauteeing and such, all the while tossing dishes I am finished with in the sink. [I'm a clean-as-I-go kind of gal. I don't like big messes. They make me nervous. What if my mother walked in unexpectedly? What if my mother-in-law walked in unexpectedly?] Unfortunately, the sink filled up almost immediately, and when I opened the dishwasher to transfer the various measuring cups and cutting boards into it, I realized it was already full of clean dishes.

Now, anyone who knows me well knows how I feel about cooking. I've chronicled my nuerosis in detail. I am still learning, and the thought of something being inedible makes me feel like a failure. Isn't that my one job?! To keep Husband nourished?! And sleeping on clean sheets?!

In short, the stress of making something new coupled with the heat of two burners and the slightly smoky smell of sauteeing fish was already making me feel overheated and panicky. The addition of my inability to clean up my mess due to the dishwasher already full of clean dishes just about PUSHED ME OVER THE EDGE.

Husband and Brother Robby were at this point looking at something on Husband's computer, and as much as I hated to disrupt their manly bonding, if I didn't call for reinforcements, I might end up in the fetal position on my kitchen floor. Stammering, I decided to ask Husband if he would unload the dishes and perform a sink-clearing, mess-eliminating miracle.

"Ummmm... babe? Not necessarily right now, because I mean, you look busy right now, but maybe sometime in the next few minutes... I mean, whenever its convenient for you---"

Opening the dishwasher, trying not to laugh at my OCD, and appearing to me somewhat like Superman right before he sweeps Lois into his arms and soars high above danger, stress, and kitchen messes, he says, offhandedly, "I know what you mean."

Pretty and telepathic?

If not for Brother Robby's presence, I might not have finished dinner last night at all.

Welcome

2007-07-17T11:52:00.001-05:00

Well, I deleted this blog a few months ago for various reasons that all seemed perfectly legitimate at the time. Since then, I've become bored and in need of an outlet, so I've decided those reasons are less compelling than my personal needs. And what is a blog if not a place where selfishness is the order of the day? It's megalomania in its most socially acceptable form.

In all seriousness, I've missed the old girl. I've missed the thrill of reading comments and finding out that people actually read it. I've missed the emails I get from my mom after she reads an entry where I am particularly whiny. So, we're back. Me and blog. Together again.

In honor of our return, I will be posting some of my favorite entries from Blog 1.0 (may she rest in peace). Enjoy!
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Salmon (the fish, not the color)
Sunday, January 21

I have a small confession: I have a mild panic attack once every day. It always occurs at the same time, around 6:30 pm when Husband calls to tell me he has begun his 30 minute drive home from work. Panic generally creeps up my spine in slow waves as I realize its time to start cooking dinner.

The problem, I think, is that I was never interested in cooking before living on my own. My mom would try to get me to help in the kitchen, but I never cared much about the food preparation, so I would set the table while she cooked. I learned a few things, like how to make guacamole, but they never stayed with me because I really didn't care.

When I lived in my first apartment during college, I started cooking a few random things. I think my staple was heating up a can of soup, but I could brown ground beef to make tacos and cook pasta and tomato sauce. After college, I lived with a roommate and started dating the man who would become Husband, so I had to cook more for my very survival. However, once I realized Boyfriend had serious Husband potential, I felt a foreshadowing of The Panic. If I was ever going to be Wife, especially sometime in the near future, I had to learn to cook, post haste. My mom gave me a few new tips and taught me how to cook my favorite home food, Southwest Chicken Pasta (bowtie pasta with garlic chicken and sauteed onions and bell peppers..... mmmmm.....). I started feeling good about my skills. I could make a mean turkey sandwich. I now shopped for groceries regularly. I KNEW things, like how to tell when avacados are ripe and which brand of lunch meat was cheapest and best tasting. I was so ready for this whole Homemaker thing.

[As an aside, I don't want to make it sound like I was COMPLETELY unprepared for taking care of Husband; that would be doing a disservice to my mom. I am a cleaning fiend. I can clean anything, and my neuroses (namely obsessive-compulsive disorder and the drive for perfection) require that my living space be pristine. Mom, you gave me skills that have proven invaluable. Like how to clean a toilet.]

[Also, its not like Husband demands that I do all the cooking. He makes amazing cookies. He can take care of himself. Its just that I grew up with a cooking mom, so I feel an in-bred need to be the main chef in the family.]

In short, nothing could have prepared me for the pressure and the pain of cooking dinner every night. The first three days we were home from our honeymoon were cake. Tacos? Check! Southwest Chicken Pasta? Check! Spaghetti with Meat Sauce? Check! But then... it seemed Husband was thrilled at the idea of eating the same three dishes in a never-ending cycle. Strange, no? I mean, I really could eat the same thing every week because then I would only make what I already have mastered, and thus, no stress! But unfortunately, that wasn't an option.

Luckily, I soon discovered the two most powerful weapons in the arsenal of Newlywed Wives. One, the ladies at my church made me a miraculous cookbook as a wedding present. I spent many a night trying to figure out how to make their dishes, and even calling them to ask questions. Two, my mother must keep her cell phone on her person at all times because she always answers when I call around 6:30 pm with a stupid cooking question that most 5 year olds could probably answer. Like, why does this sauce look weird? What is the difference between mincing and dicing? How do I know when the chicken is ready? In short, new recipes brought The Panic on with amazing rapidity, and my mom's calm advice helped keep it at bay.

Still, practice as I may, six months of wedded bliss have not yet banished The Panic from my kitchen. I still freak out about what to make for dinner (how long ago did I make tacos?!) and if I will be able to make it well.

Two days ago, I was fretting, per usual, about the tedium of making "the usual" yet again. I needed something new. I was tired of making the same 8 things in rotation. [Yeah, I said 8! I have expanded my knowledge! You should come over some time!] Over the phone, I mentioned this to my mom, who immediately armed me with How to Make Chili (which I feel like I should have known already... didn't they go over that in Girl Scouts once?) and How to Cook Salmon. Now, the salmon really got my blood pumping. FISH! Our diet had been a steady supply of beef and chicken, so the fish would be a nice change. I drove to the grocery store with a song in my heart. I greeted the Wal Mart lady warmly, navigated the crowd with ease, and thoroughly enjoyed collecting what I needed for dinner. Normally, I depise grocery shopping, but I was on a mission to keep variety and spice in my (dining) life.

Naturally, the good mood dissipated as soon as I arrived home and the impending doom of actually carrying out my glorious plan immediately brought on The Panic. I worried the entire hour I waited for the call that Husband was on his way home. I set everything out in nervous preparation. I tried to watch FRIENDS to distract myself. Finally, I could wait no longer, and after one more call to my mom to make sure I was doing everything right, I commenced.

Ok, so this is the most melodramatic way to communicate that I made salmon for dinner last night, but guess what? I DID IT!!! I DID IT!!! I made salmon and it was edible! Husband ate it! It was incredibly validating. I also made broccoli and rice, so it almost felt like a real meal. I wore my Wife badge with pride. I conquered the kitchen. I showed it who is boss. I cooked fish and Husband LIKED it.

This is not to say that my experience with The Panic is over. No, no. There is no escaping The Panic. I have a feeling I will live with it my entire life, or at least until I have children and don't have time to worry about cooking anymore. Kids are good like that, they take up lots of time and sometimes will only eat pancakes with jelly (true story... my cousin Erik wouldn't eat anything else for years). Until then, I will resign myself to the irrational fear that one day Husband will come home and see that once again we are eating tacos and threaten to divorce me. TACOS? AGAIN? IF I HAVE TO EAT ONE MORE TACO..... I will, rather, take a wicked delight in the fact that occasionally, The Panic can be beaten back in the face of a yummy, fishy treat.